


The Road to Detroit is Paved With Hell

by sandymg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandymg/pseuds/sandymg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer wants Sam to say yes. He wants Dean back in Hell. And he's tired of playing nice. Sam and Dean will never know what hit them. (Set during Season 5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Detroit is Paved With Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Season 5. Canon up to S5xE10 Abandon all Hope and AU after that. Reminder: Abandon All Hope was the episode where Jo is mortally wounded by Hell Hounds and ultimately both Ellen and Jo are killed sacrificing themselves in an explosion. Later in that episode, the boys confront Lucifer and Dean shoots Lucifer with the Colt, but it doesn't hurt him. For more information about that episode go here: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Abandon_All_Hope#Synopsis  
> Note that this was written before the character of Death was introduced. Subsequently, this story features a different version of Death. The same is true for Michael. The character death is canonical now but wasn't at the time.

**Chapter 1**

The bodies lay dead together in a crimson puddle. The larger one draped over the smaller as if to hold on, to shelter, to keep.

A final brotherly embrace.

That neither would ever feel.

* * *

**_Weeks earlier_ **

“Dean!”

“I see it.”

Dean swings the machete swift and hard, blinking against the blood spurting from the now headless vampire’s neck. So much for immortality, Eddie, he thinks with an inner grin. The head rolls across the cement floor landing a few feet from his brother.

He hears the flick of Sam’s blade and another head rolls. These vamps are wild, mostly starved, nothing human left. Pure, evil, feeding machines. He’d like to think that made this easier. Didn’t make a lick of difference, though. Not anymore.

Turning in a circle he takes a quick mental count. Six down. They’d counted eight in the nest. If the vamps had been more rational, they might have run. But they are ravenous and stupid.

On cue a female lunges at him, sounding an inhuman shriek. He sees Sam approaching behind it, moves himself deftly out of the way of the killing blow. A fresh spray of blood reaches him. The vampire’s blood is thick and sweet. He’s aware of its enticing qualities, has even tasted a minute amount when wiping his face. As long as it doesn’t get in your bloodstream you are safe.

“One more,” Sam says efficiently.

That was Sam these days, all business. They sweep the warehouse slowly working together in a long-practiced manner, synched, precise, could almost be one in their actions. And Dean has never felt more distant from Sam.

Sam indicates he’s spotted the last of the fangs. A hand motion tells Dean to approach from the right while Sam comes at it from behind and takes the kill. Sounds like a plan.

He spots the figure huddling against a wall. Seems calmer than the rest. Will be easy. Good. Dean draws its attention but as if sensing their plan it turns away from him and stares at Sam just as Sam begins to raise his blade.

He stops.

Dean moves closer, weapon ready wondering, _what the fuck?_

It takes a moment but the memory comes. No name but the face. Pretty in a stringy way, with huge slanted eyes. Drank only animal blood – a vegan fang or some such shit — and Sammy had let her go.

The sprinkle of blood hits him by surprise, stinging his eyes. He looks up at Sam whose face is deader than the vamp he just took out.

“Let’s go,” Sam says to Dean’s blood splattered, equally empty stare.

* * *

They are on a dark road again heading west. Sam is driving. He is mildly surprised at how often lately Dean has simply handed him the keys. Long ago this delighted Sam. Filled him inside because it was proof of Dean’s trust, partnership, respect. The thrum of the huge engine pulling them forward as a team. Now it’s a means to get from here to there. The motion has no meaning. They go because they must but have no destination. Their plan is for things not to happen. It’s less than going nowhere, it feels like standing still and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Dean has been passive since Carthage. Quieter than Sam would have thought possible. He’s grateful for this and he realizes that makes him an SOB because part of him still knows Dean enough to understand that the quiet is covering unbearable pain. But he doesn’t want to know this. So he doesn’t.

The sun set some 300 miles back. Mile after monotonous mile. His neck is starting to ache on the left side like it did whenever he stayed still like this for so long. In school, after a long study session, Jess used to nuzzle up behind him and knead the knot until it’d melt into the warmth of her hands. But he’s forgotten what that warmth feels like.

“Okay if we stop?” he asks although it doesn’t matter what Dean says because he’s already pulling into the dingy motel’s parking lot.

He rummages through his pockets for the latest fake credit card. _Jared Binks_. Cute. Dean filled out these applications. _Can never go wrong with Star Wars_ , he hears Dean say so many times. In the past. When Dean used to laugh. Different times.

Dean grabs their duffels and is just behind him as they enter their room. Sam is assaulted by plaid. Didn’t know there was such a thing as plaid wallpaper. Especially in pea green and brown. For a moment it makes him woozy. Dean stops two steps in the doorway and mutters, “Huh.”

They drop their duffels on each bed, Sam closest to the door. That used to always be Dean’s bed but now it’s just whoever claims it first. Sam pulls back the plaid bedcover to inspect. There have been unpleasant surprises other times so he always checks now. He won’t go so far as to describe the bedding as clean, but nothing is moving.

He needs a shower, hotter than hot. Turns to Dean. “Mind if I shower first?”

His brother nods okay and plops down on his bed reaching for the remote.

Sam sets the water to near scalding and he knows this means by the time Dean showers it will be tepid, but he’s too achy to care. Before he’d gotten back in the Impala he’d wiped off the surface blood _don’t you get fang blood on my baby, Sam_ but when you kill eight vamps at once it gets everywhere. He watches the red rings swirl around the drain.

Surprising to recognize that last vampire. Lenore. She’d stared at him and he knew she recognized him as well, saw relief right before he lifted the machete and finished the job. Dean had looked at him then, and Sam had seen the disconnect in his brother’s eyes. Ah well, he’s long past worrying about disappointing his brother. His life is no longer about what he did. It is only about what he won’t do. It is only about saying no.

Eyes closed, water undulating against his skin and Sam is back in Carthage. Lucifer stands before him, shreds of skin flaking off. Talking about them. _Talking about Dean_. Anger burns at the recollection. Dean put a fucking bullet in the Devil’s brain. Why only throw his brother against a tree? Satan, Prince of Darkness, the Dark Lord – why not just slay his brother on the spot? Because Lucifer thinks Michael will just bring his vessel back? Because Lucifer wants to see his own brother again in Dean’s body? Because he _can’t?_ This last thought tantalizes the most.

That loathsome bag of pus doesn’t have the right to utter his brother’s name. His brother is too good for all of this. The good son. The good soldier. His brother cares about people in a way that sometimes stuns Sam. Because for all the jerky bravado, Dean is pure. Pure blood. Pure heart. Pure soul. _The Righteous Man_. Who was only in Hell because of Sam’s failures.

Sam’s always known this deep down. Heaven knows it too, obviously. Even Lucifer does, it seems.

Time to turn off the shower.

Sam slips into his old sweats quietly. In the other bed, Dean has fallen asleep. Sam removes the remote from his brother’s hand and turns off the T.V. His eyes drift back to Dean’s peaceful face. Sleeping, Dean’s face is younger, unguarded. His body is still, no dreams _for now_. It’s been a long time since he’s watched Dean like this. Two years ago … as Hell got near … Sam stayed up and guarded as his brother slept. _To memorize, to stay time_.

Dean is still in his clothes. Sam carefully pulls Dean’s boots off. His brother doesn’t stir. He’s about to climb into his own bed and turn off the lights when he sees something and stops.

Moving back to the bathroom he returns with a warm washcloth and gently washes traces of vampire blood off Dean’s face. Caring for his brother hurts so bad he fears he’ll stop breathing. _Dean_ , he lets himself think before dropping the washcloth on the small table and turning away.

There is a reason he’s locked those feelings all up. Back to business and nobody gets hurt.

* * *

“Rufus say why he’s hunting this thing? Seems … well …” Sam asks as soon as Dean hangs up.

“What’s a friendly neighborhood Wendigo, when the world’s burning, the end is nigh and Death is about to drop in for potluck dinner? That what I should of asked him?”

Sam looks at him like he doesn’t exactly want to agree but that is what he’s thinking.

“Said the land belongs to an old friend.“

“Owed him?”

“P’robly.”

It’s enough explanation for Sam and about as much conversation as they are likely to have all day.

Dean’s surprised Rufus called, figured it’d be Bobby checking in, as he does every couple of days. He hasn’t heard from Rufus since River Pass. The call was awkward and Dean wished the old hunter dialed Sam’s number instead. Except he knew that wouldn’t happen. Dean knew who most people figured the top Winchester was. The sorry replacement for his father.

Sam stared at him when he realized who called. The hardest damn part was just past the hello, when Dean thought for a horrifying moment he’d have to tell the older hunter about Carthage.

“Didja … do you know …?”

“Yeah. Bobby told folk.”

Dean nodded at this. That’s when Sam turned away. The rest had been about the case. Wendigo. North woods of Minnesota near Rosesu. Textbook. Typical hunting grounds. They agreed on meeting coordinates and that was that.

“Think I’ll drive,” Dean tells Sam. Not that he needs to ask permission or anything, it’s his damn car after all. Only after Carthage Sam drives more than usual. They didn’t talk about it. He’d just toss Sam the keys and crawl into the passenger seat, lean his head against the window, his own face reflecting back at him in the pitch black of night. Dry eyed and worn. So tired. He’d shut his eyes and struggle not to see the light from the explosion erupting behind his eyelids. Would there ever be a time when he’d stop seeing this?

And Sam would drive, staring straight ahead. No music. No sound at all. A fucking machine. He’d be the same way in shotgun, though, so, yeah, Sam might as well be at the wheel. ‘Cause then Dean could shut down completely. Not worry about getting them wrapped around a telephone pole from looking one too many times over at the body that had once been his brother.

Except this morning he thinks maybe he needs to get behind the wheel a spell. He misses this. Only true thing left in his miserable life. _Didja miss me Baby?_ The car doesn’t respond in words but the engine turns as it only does for him, purring throatily like a gal who is really glad where your hand’s going.

“Oh yeah,” he sighs and senses Sam’s eyes on him. Turns to see his brother’s eyebrows slightly rise and his face settle into something resembling pleased. Surprising because it’s more of a response than Sam has given him in … well, too long to recall.

“What?” he asks thinking _maybe_ , they can actually say something to each other.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were making out with your car.”

Dean manages to let a grin reach his eyes. “You’re just jealous baby likes me more’n you.”

“Dude, it’s a car.” Sam rolls his eyes and looks back out the window.

Bolstered by this small exchange Dean says what’s on his mind. “I, uh, appreciate … last night.”

“’S nothing.”

He’d woken up that morning, saw that somehow his boots had come off, noticed the pink stained washcloth near the bed. No, it wasn’t nothing. But he can’t think of any more to say about this. It’s quiet again and Dean doesn’t like it, had liked those few minutes of words. Tries again. “So. A Wendigo. Last one was Colorado, remember?”

No response and Dean thinks Sam probably just nodded yes and the next 200 miles will be like all the rest. He glances over. Sam stirs at that moment. “Black Water Ridge. Dad’s coordinates.”

“Saved that boy.”

“Lost the guide.”

Always measuring, counting … what was that? He bets Sam has this running tally of every save and every … loss. _The detonation pushes him with an invisible hand until he’s on his knees, face tasting dirt and sweat and tears, eyes blinded from the blast._

He pushes back. “That family is alive. Together right now because of what we did.”

“I suppose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Dean. You’re right. They’re alive.”

God -- _if he existed outside of tortillas --_ what has happened to his little brother?

Dean says nothing further. Waits a second although he’s certain that Sam won’t add anything. When the silence gets too loud he reaches across for his tunes. There isn’t even mock debating about his music choices any longer. There just isn’t anything.

* * *

Rufus is there waiting for them with backpack and supplies. They all load up flare guns. That particular trick is one they’d come up with on their last Wendigo hunt. Dean is rather proud that other hunters have now made it standard procedure. Slowly they start working their way into the woods, letting Rufus lead. The sun is low in the sky but there’s still enough light to see. Not much choice to hunting at dusk. The Wendigo holes up during the day. Comes out late.

They’ve gone a ways when Dean gets Sam’s attention. Maybe this doesn’t need to be said. But at this point he’s stopped taking anything for granted. “By the book, Sam.” He nods at Rufus. Dean cannot lose another friend. He just can’t.

His brother meets his gaze. Like he understands.

“Got it.”

In the current between them, Dean hears, _Nothing will go wrong_. Sam doesn’t promise because they both know how empty promises are in their lives. But the reassurance helps. He blinks and starts walking a little faster.

Rufus points to a parting in the leaves and signals left silently. They have the creature’s tracks. Dean looks admiringly at the older hunter. Little grin. Wendigo stands no chance.

* * *

Sam’s aware of how far they’ve hiked and his assurance to Dean that he’d be at his best weighs like an oath. Rufus keeps up with them as if the 25-year age difference didn’t exist. Tough old bastard. Still hunting. Not in a million years does Sam expect to live to Rufus’s age. Nope, this is likely his last year on earth. He’s okay with this. As long as he says no while going down. And Dean still lives. He really wants that. Can’t really think about it going down any other way.

They hear it first. Unfamiliar voices. Probably the hikers it last devoured. Maybe some are still alive, hoarded like the squirrels save their nuts. Would be nice to save someone. Odds are very slim. Likely won’t happen. Still, it would make Dean happy _. Saving people. Hunting things._

Within the beam of his flashlight Rufus points ahead and indicates how they can split up and triangulate. Sam catches his brother’s eye, waits for the go ahead and then heads off to the right. It’s not like Dean would disagree with Rufus’s strategy. Just that since freeing Lucifer Sam makes a point of checking in before making a move. Sometimes it irritates him that he can’t just trust himself. _That Dean can’t trust him._ But he will follow Dean’s lead. Lifetime of patterns doesn’t break easy.

Blood is streaked on the trees around him. The creature’s definitely been hunting here. He scans the area warily. There’s a hard crunching sound and then Dean’s loud, “Over here, you bastard!”

Sam stays frosty, unsure if the Wendigo is going to rise to the bait or not. Wendigos are smart, they know hunters’ tricks. Sure enough the blur moves away from Dean toward where Rufus is positioned. He hears Dean’s frustrated “Dammit” and hopes the old hunter is ready. A cry of pain. _No._ He runs on adrenaline and freezes a second upon seeing Rufus on the ground, blood on his arm. Impossible to tell from here how bad the injury is.

“Hey … meals on wheels here!” Dean is yelling. “Come and get it, juicy white meat still on the bone. Don’t get better than this, Wendy.”

Sam positions himself partly behind a tree and waits. _Turn around,_ he wills the creature. Turn … there, he takes the shot aiming straight, cold and true. Same moment, Dean shoots as well. There is a sizzle as both flares hit the Wendigo dead center, exploding into each other. The blue fire consumes the creature in a surreal misty burst.

Rufus is up and laughing. “That, boys, was a thing of beauty.”

Dean is breathing hard but also smiling. Sam walks over to inspect Rufus’s arm. He’s pushed away. “’S nothing. Scratch.”

“Bleeding quite a bit for a scratch,” Dean says.

“Let’s just get you cleaned up,” Sam says, already pulling the first aid supplies from his pack.

It’s not that bad and Sam makes quick work of dressing the wound. Rufus still has a broad smile. “Double bull’s-eye,” he says to them. “You two make a heckuva team.”

Sam feels Dean’s eyes on him and purposely looks down.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Maybe synchronized monster mashing could be a new Olympic event.”

Rufus laughs. Sam knows he’s supposed to join in, tries but it comes out odd, somewhere between a squeak and a sigh. After an awkward minute Dean says, “Let’s check for its lair. Maybe still someone left.”

They’re spreading out, scanning for tracks, when Sam thinks he sees something, a shadow in the trees in an area a few yards back that Dean’d already checked. Dean notices Sam pause and look.

“What’s up?”

Rufus, a ways ahead, stops at Dean’s question and looks back.

“Nothing ... just thought I saw something.”

“It’s an animal.”

“Probably. Only …”

Sam takes out his flare pistol and starts walking in that direction curious. Didn’t seem like an animal. Maybe there was someone lost out here.

“Sam, c’mon man, there’s nothin’ there … where are you …”

He hears the annoyance in his brother’s voice. Thinks he should just obey but something irks. What if it’s one of the Wendigo’s victims? “Just gonna take a peek,” he says still walking away from the others.

There’s a quick sting and the insane image of a skeleton with glowing red eyes. Before it all goes black.

**To be continued …**

**Chapter 2**

Sam is gone.

Heart hammering, Dean sees explosions behind his eyes and Lucifer taunting them cockier than ever with designs on his brother and he can’t think straight, doesn’t understand how someone the size of Sam can just fucking vanish.

Rufus is calm and working the situation out. “Wendigos are too territorial, never be two of ‘em.”

They scour the area where Sam had been. Minutes before Sam disappeared Dean had checked this very spot and seen nothing. Had he missed something? He searches in circles with his flashlight looking for anything, any clue. There’s gotta be one. Because if nothing is here then … _No._ Castiel had told them the rib tats would hide them from the angels. And Lucifer is only an angel after all. He replays that thought in his head. Why does it seem so wrong?

Think, Dean. Be John Winchester’s son. It’s not a Wendigo. But still fast, a blur. Sam had seen it, but he and Rufus had not.

His light catches something. He drops on his knees, sifts through leaves and dirt and pulls out a single wooden dart. Holds it up in his light for Rufus to see. His heart stops. “Rufus … your friend ever report seeing anything besides Wendy out here? Red glowing eyes maybe?”

Rufus needs only one look to confirm. “A Baykok. Don’t touch the end.”

Dean grunts. Wasn’t born yesterday. Poison. Won’t kill but will knock someone out cold. That way the Baykok can take his prey to his lair and feast on the liver while the victim is still alive. If it’s not too hungry then it lets the meal go. Minus a liver.

His heart is pounding so hard he figures all the animals around him must think a buffalo herd is passing by. He missed a fucking Baykok! _And now it has his brother_. He shakes his head to clear it, forces himself to start thinking again. Remember the lore. Rufus is circling the area slowly. Best tracker there is, Bobby says about him. Please. Pick up the trail. Let them at least have a chance.

“Once we find its lair gonna be a bitch to kill it,” Rufus says. “Make Wendigos look slow.” He is walking back the way they’d come. Dean follows silently assuming the other hunter has chosen this direction for a good reason.

“Fire should work,” Dean says after they’ve walked a bit.

“Club, too.”

“Salt and burn after that?”

“Only way to be sure.”

A Baykok was a revenant like the Wendigo, a corporeal ghoul. Also a hunter, it was proud and primarily sought out other hunters or warriors like it had once been itself as its prey. That’s why the reports of the Baykok were quite sparse over the years. There is no better hunter than his brother. He jokes that Sam is second best but that isn’t so. The Baykok has picked the best hunter to make himself an honorable kill.

He has to ask. Stops himself. Chokes down bile. “Rufus … will it go for the liver right away, you think?”

Rufus turns to him, the whites of his eyes reflecting the moonlight around them. “Only if it’s hungry,” he says.

And this is all Dean has. After 27 years of caring for his brother with all that he is, Sam’s life depends on the appetite of a long dead Chippewa warrior who got lost in a forest one night and refused to fucking die.

* * *

Sam opens his eyes and knows immediately this can’t be real. The room is ornate and gothic, multi-paneled and rich. Colors of gold, turquoise blues and rich ocher surround him. Classic paintings _old Masters?_ adorn the richly hued walls. He doesn’t know where he is but it’s definitely not the backwoods of Minnesota.

He waits. Is not surprised at the man approaching him.

“Hello Sam.

“Go to Hell.”

The Devil smiles. Instead of wearing Nick’s casual clothes, he’s sporting an all-white suit. Cheesy as hell. Matches the decor. “Not yet,” Lucifer replies softly.

“Am I dreaming?” Sam asks although the answer is obvious. His mind is working overtime, realities clashing. At Carthage, Lucifer’s body was disintegrating, oozing, peeling. Now his skin is pristine, luminous … compelling.

Something happened in the forest … Sam was looking … Red eyes … Lucifer? No. Felt like something else. Much more primitive.

“Not dreaming exactly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I believe you called me. You need me.”

Sam snorts. _Hardly_. He starts walking around. The room has no visible door. Great.

“What do you want? You can’t keep me here. The answer is still no.”

“I’m not keeping you here, Sam. I think you need to tell me where you are.”

“No.”

Lucifer walks over to a gilded side table and picks up an apple from a ceramic bowl, old, blue and white, perhaps Chinese. The apple is red and shiny. Reminds Sam of the one the old crone holds out to tempt Snow White. Or more appropriately the one the serpent uses to tempt Eve.

Lucifer takes a slow bite, relishes it, admires the fruit in his hand as if it is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Absently he looks at Sam again. “Sam, you’re in trouble. You know this.”

Sam doesn’t reply, isn’t sure what the son of a bitch means. Ignoring the other man’s deliberate patience, Sam paces the room again. The paintings are out of a museum, too beautiful to be in the same room with the malevolence behind him. He stops before a portrait of the archangel Michael, sword drawn. He sees Dean in his mind. As beautiful as the image in oil. Fierce. Judging. Righteous.

“My brother,” Lucifer says.

Sam decides to play along. “You miss him.”

“Do you miss your brother?”

“Yes.” It’s the most honest Sam remembers being in ages.

“Sam, Sam … Silly hunts, needless wastes of time. You know what’s important. You have always known. It’s your brother that puts these little things first. He has never been able to see the big picture. Aren’t you tired of traipsing after him?”

Sam turns away. He doesn’t want to hear this.

“He’s held you back for years now, hasn’t he?” Lucifer continues. “Following daddy’s rules, literally living from the pages of his father’s life to cover up his own lack of one. Sad, really. I understand your sympathy. But it’s time to let go now and be the man you were meant to be.”

“Shut up,” he shouts. “You’re wrong!” Lucifer’s wrong, he doesn’t resent Dean. Not anymore … If there’s any reason on Earth that keeps him saying no, it’s his brother. Because without that …

Lucifer’s eyes burn midnight in the yellow incandescent light. He sighs deeply. “I thought you’d wise up and move on by yourself but perhaps I’ll have to help you along a bit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dean was never supposed to leave my home, you know. Really he had such a promising future, I’m going to give it back to him. Now that Alastair’s gone I think I’ll give your brother a crack at the job. Of course he’ll have to earn his way back, start at the bottom. But that’s only fair.”

_What is Lucifer saying?_

“Sam … a deal is deal. Dean has welshed long enough. It’s time for him to come back.”

“You leave my brother alone, you son of a bitch!”

“Ah, there’s that fury. Hold it Sam, let it burn in your belly. We will put it to such good purpose.”

Sam’s head spins and a woozy feeling floods over him. What is happening to him? _And why are they on this stupid hunt when they should have been trying to track down Death and …_

“Sam. Your body is in trouble.” So earnest. “Let me help you,” Lucifer says again.

Sam’s remembering. A movement, thought it might be a lost hiker, felt a pinch of pain. He touches his neck. In this room there is nothing unusual to feel. The eyes … red, piercing in a … skeleton head. Not another Wendigo. _A Baykok_. It paralyzed him, knocked him out. Is taking him to his cave and will slice out his liver. Put a stone in its place and patch him back up. Magicks will seal the wound so that no one will know, not even Sam himself when he awakes. And without a liver he’ll last maybe a day.

He looks at Lucifer. The Devil has told Sam that if he kills himself Lucifer won’t allow him to stay dead. Sam almost tested this. The night Lucifer had first come to him, and he’d called his brother, and Dean had told him to stay away ... Sam had come close. Trigger against his finger. He didn’t do it then. _And Dean called back_. Something he tells himself daily.

“I have to wake up,” he tells Lucifer, hating the supplication in his voice but unable to help himself.

Steady blue eyes drift longingly over Sam’s body. Lucifer takes a step closer and Sam’s breath hitches. In this instant Sam gets the stories, the lore, the mystique surrounding this being, this angel. Lucifer glows lit from within. _The Lightbringer_. He knows Nick is normal, ordinary … just a human. But not any more. Sam can’t make his eyes look away from Lucifer’s face. Beautiful. Tears build behind his eyes. _Too beautiful for a human to comprehend_. He feels the man’s gaze caress him and _Oh God_ it’s so wrong that it feels so …

Goosebumps rise on his arms and he shivers and looks down and he’s naked. Not a stitch on and instantly he drops his hands to cover himself as his face heats … only not just from shame.

“I’m not keeping you from waking up,” Lucifer says softly.

Sam grasps the moment to break the spell, turns away and shuts his eyes, wills himself to awaken, to escape this gilded cage and return to the Baykok’s lair. Awake he stands a chance, albeit very small. Like this … his hand touches his side where his vital organs live. Has it already happened? _Wouldn’t … wouldn’t Lucifer save him?_ The desire behind that thought scares the living daylight out of him.

Again Lucifer’s eyes focus on him with desire. Sam retreats, back pressing the wall. Sam is taller, bigger, stronger, but here, in this dream space, Lucifer’s essence is charged, alive, too stunning for Sam to fight.

Face close, invading, breath against his bare skin, Sam has a panicked moment as he thinks that Lucifer intends to kiss him. Wants to say no, to fight, to scream. But he’s petrified and all he has left are tears.

“You need to wake up now, Sam.” Lucifer’s hand touches his cheek. Warm, feels human … feels affectionate. “Consider this a freebie. But … last one.”

* * *

They’ve walked so long Dean doesn’t feel his feet in his boots any longer. The only good thing about tracking a Baykok is that their lairs are much easier to find than a Wendigo’s. For one, they don’t hibernate for decades at a time so they don’t need to burrow down quite as tight. Two, they don’t particularly try to cover up their tracks. They hunt only occasionally, aren’t as ravenous as Wendigos. They go after alpha hunters as trophies more than anything else.

Dean is beyond worried, has surpassed that over an hour ago. Hasn’t gotten over how he’d missed signs of the Baykok’s presence. Had let Sam stroll right into … The one thought that brought a moment of relief disappeared some miles back. And to say that thinking of Lucifer could ever comfort really spoke of his state of mind. But Sam said Lucifer’d bring him back if he died. Dean doesn’t allow himself to think too long on how that had worked itself into conversation between the Devil and his brother. Senses the reason in the corners of his mind and pushes it back down deep.

So, for a moment he thinks of Lucifer as their Hail Mary play. Then he remembered the tattoos that hide them from angels. What is he suppose to do about that … put out a pitchfork-shaped Bat signal and present his brother to him? _Perhaps with a bow and gift wrapping?_

He stumbles over an exposed root. Rufus calls out, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Think we’re close?”

The older man nods, eyes on minute signs of disturbance in the flora, the dirt, the branches. “I think I found it. There.”

A rock formation stands out against the wooded background. He sees the low opening. Another advantage of hunting a Baykok, they’re not generally 10 feet tall. In fact, most likely it’s about the same height as his brother. Sam stands a really good chance. _Awake_. Unconscious, the thing can do anything it wants to him. Fear vibrates through Dean _when has it ever not_ and he tries to swallow but his throat is dry.

Rufus puts his finger to his lips and they work their way to the cave’s entrance. Dean’s standing just outside indicating he will lead the way when he hears a primal victory yell followed immediately by a human cry of pain. _Sammy._

**Chapter 3**

The first thing Sam feels is a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. Like he’s lying on rocks. No noise, must be alone. He opens his eyes. There’s enough light to make out he’s in a cave. Rough formations above his head. Stalactites. Fluid columns that remind him of the ornate decorations in Lucifer’s fantasy room. This worries him and he wonders if Lucifer is able to see this cave, if the Devil is more linked to him than Sam knows. At least he’s not tied down. Clearly the creature did not expect him to wake up. 

Lucifer’s last words ring in his ears. _A freebie_. Nice, now he owes him one. Well, too bad. He didn’t ask for help. Sam sits up but his head is filled with cotton and it feels like his blood’s been replaced with liquid lead. The Baykok’s poison is still in his system. A sharp shiver makes him realize his clothes are missing. He’s naked. _Oh God_. A wave of nausea hits as he remembers Lucifer looking, _ogling_ … He pushes it away. Can’t deal with this now. Has to survive.

Sam reaches to touch his abdomen dreading to feel a hole where his necessary organs should be. The skin is smooth. He sighs and collapses back onto the rough stone slab.

Get a grip, Winchester. The thing won’t be away long. It’s probably getting what it needs for whatever ritual goes with liver eating. Time to go. He forces himself into a full sitting position and swings his legs over the side. The ground is gritty beneath his bare feet. He needs his clothes. His boots. He trembles. His jacket. 

In the dim light he’s starting to see things he wishes he doesn’t. He knows he’s not the first meal brought back to this lair. Still it’s one thing to know this and another to see the bones strewn about. He swallows fear, fights down his human reaction to seeing more victims. No time for reacting.

Unfortunately he doesn’t see his clothes. Must have been stripped elsewhere. The forest is cold but he can survive that. Getting past the Baykok is the question. The one thing he knows is that he can’t go without some sort of weapon. His gun is gone and it wouldn’t do much good anyway. The flare gun might have helped but that’s with his pack, dropped when the creature took him. He picks up a human thigh bone. Hears his brother make a _Flintstones_ crack in his mind. Dismisses it. It’s hard, old and will inflict damage. And it’s the only thing he has.

He walks a few yards as stealthily as he can in his barefoot condition. The Baykok’s advantage is its speed. Part ghoul, the creature can pretty much just appear. Sam is down on the ground before he even registers the swish of air around him. He swings the bone around and aims for the thing’s head but the Baykok bats the weapon away like a person might swat a fly. The drug from the dart swims in Sam’s blood, slowing him, weakening him.

Sam’s dragged through the dirt, pulled by his arms. His back is grated by rocks that file his skin raggedly off his body. It hurts and he grunts but it’s over and he’s thrown back hard onto the slab and there’s a crunch where his elbow hits and the pain is so sharp he tears up and can’t breathe.

Red eyes peer at him with a mixture of rage and … surprise. Guess it’s wondering how he woke up. _Yeah, well, got the Devil on my side._ He feels like laughing at this and knows it’s the pain and the drug making him loopy. He wonders if he broke his elbow because that would really suck as it’s his right arm and that would be a big disadvantage fighting the Apocalypse. Not that he’s been all that valuable in the fight against evil so far. However, it’s certainly a good idea to keep oneself from being eaten if one wants to fight the good fight. Oh, and one might also consider not freeing the fucking Prince of Darkness from Hades. 

He’s thinking of himself in third person. Never a good sign.

The Baykok steps away and Sam thinks now might be a good time to try to escape again but before he can even begin to move it’s back and holding a wicked looking knife.

The creature lifts Sam’s head and slams it back down hard against the rocks. For a moment everything goes blank and then a hazy mist envelopes him and he can see but can’t move, feels like he’s floating, like when they were kids and their dad would let them stay at a motel with a pool as a special treat and he and Dean would spend lazy afternoons just floating and roasting under the warm sun. Dean’s freckles would get darker and his hair lighter and he’d get jealous at Sam’s deep dark tan and bitch that he got stuck with the pansy white skin. Then Dad would softly say that Dean had Mary’s complexion and Dean would get all quiet and stop complaining.

Sam feels something slimy and cold rub along his abdomen. He shudders uncontrollably but can’t move his head enough to see and then he smells something thick and foul and he knows in the part of his mind still able to reason that this must be part of the ritual, that he’s about to be eviscerated and he has to do something … _do something now_ … but his body isn’t responding to normal commands. He shuts his eyes as the blade touches him and there’s piercing pain, hot, tight and excruciating. And he screams. 

* * *

Dean hears Sam and goes crazy, starts running down the shaft toward the noise. _Hold on_ , he thinks, says, isn’t sure which. Rufus is tight behind him, flare gun ready. Dean’s gripping a thick branch he brought as a bludgeon. _Don’t you hurt him. Don’t you dare, you motherf_ … The passage splits in two. He stares a moment at Rufus, uncertain which way leads to Sam. They have no time. His brother has stopped screaming. _Oh God_. They split up and Dean runs the way his gut tells him is right.

In less than fifty feet the tunnel opens to a cavern where he’s assaulted by the sight of a pale, huge warrior leaning over intently. “Yo!” he yells in an effort to get it away from Sam. Red eyes lock with his in surprise and heat. He can’t even risk a glance at Sam because if he does then he’ll lose.

The Baykok is holding a bloody knife and Dean’s heart leaps. It charges him and he swings and misses because the thing is fast. Its speed knocks Dean flat on his butt and it's slashing at him, nicks his forehead. Dean rolls, kicks up, and connects but it’s coming back at him with blurry speed and Dean looks for the club that was knocked from his hands, but it’s too far away. There’s a shout and then an explosion reverberates through the small cave in a deafening roar. And the Baykok is toast.

 _  
_ Rufus hollers, “You okay, boy?” and reaches toward him. 

Dean is up and running toward his unmoving brother, a naked sacrifice spread on a granite altar. _Sammy_. Rufus is there with a flashlight. The cut is precise and deep, blood gurgling out. Bits of Sam’s guts garnish the wound’s edges.

“Can you tell …?”

“Ain’t no doctor, boy. But that’s a lotta blood.”

Together they apply pressure and Dean works frantically to quell the bleeding with the cloths Rufus hands him. He is pushing so hard he fears he might damage something else inside his brother. Sam stirs, moans, lifts his arms struggling.

“Sam, Sam, it’s me. You’re okay. Can you hear me? I got you bro. You’re going to be alright.” Dean pulls Sam up and to him as the blood from the cut on his forehead dribbles in his eyes. Time freezes.

_Sammy’s in his arms on his knees in the dirt with his eyes rolling up, head flopping back then forward upon his shoulder, a giant ragdoll with a hole in his spine and a heart that’s stopped pumping and there’s nothing Dean can do …_

“D’n,” the voice is weak.

Dean fights to remember where he is. Rufus has a hand on his shoulder.

“Bayk--”

“Rufus shot him with the flare gun. It’s gone, Sam. It’s dead.”

“Liv … er?”

“You’re all there little brother.” _Please God_. “We just need to get you patched up. Need a hospital. Gotta pull out those old fake insurance cards again.” He tries for light but his voice isn’t selling, knows he sounds panicked. He doesn’t know how deep the cut goes. Has to believe Sam’s liver is still inside but doesn’t know how badly it is damaged. All he knows is that they don’t have time. Sam needs sutures, needs antibiotics, needs medical attention, like yesterday. 

“Rufus. We have to get him out of here.”

Rufus is already looking around the creature’s lair for anything useful. They rig a makeshift travois using bones and branches and some animal skins they find. It’s barely long enough for his oversized brother but it lets them move him and that’s all that matters, even as Sam cries out when they cover him and shift him to it. 

The hike back to the car is interminable. They change the soaked cloth twice on the way and each time it’s drenched in more blood. Sam drifts in and out. Mutters _no, stop, get away_ … The words are like spears. Now he’s unconscious again and Dean isn’t sure which is worse. _C’mon Sam, hang in there, Sam, stay with me._ As soon as the road becomes visible from a distance Dean pulls out his cell phone. Prays there will be coverage.

Rufus looks at him, “911?”

He dials Cas’s cell without responding. They’ve been cautious who they tell about Castiel. It’s been on a need to know basis. In fact, Ellen and Jo just met the angel the night before they … Castiel answers immediately as always. 

“Dean?”

“Cas,” he says, knowing Cas will hear the urgency in his voice. He looks down at Sam’s gray complexion. Like he looked in Cold Oak … Dean leans down and touches his brother’s chest. Still moving. He clicks a few buttons on his phone. “I sent you my GPS coordinates. Now Cas. It’s Sam.” 

A hand touches his shoulder and there are the blue eyes of a man who is the closest thing to religion Dean will ever get.

Rufus reacts to Cas’s inexplicable appearance by pulling his weapon.

“It’s okay. Castiel is an angel.”

The other hunter is stunned, looks scared as he takes a respectful step back. Cas has this effect on folks. The angel leans over the stretcher and frowns.

“He needs medical attention.” 

Yes … Now. “Can you zap us to an emergency room?” 

As he touches the matted hair on Sam’s forehead Cas freezes.

“He has been with Lucifer.”

“Wh …at?” Dean blinks, his head spinning. _Lucifer … when, what?_

* * *

Sam is wheeled to a room as Dean trots behind. He knows the staff is confused as to how they both suddenly appeared in the waiting room lobby without being seen to walk in but given the degree of Sam’s injuries this is quickly forgotten. A woman with a clipboard approaches and stops him from following Sam into the treatment room.

“We just have to get some information … Mr. …?”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out the medical cards … he’s not sure of the names on them and doesn’t want to make a mistake. All he wants is to go inside and see what’s happening to Sam. He doesn’t see Castiel or Rufus. Assumes that Rufus was left behind. Hopes Cas is around.

“Mr. Crosby … you say your brother was in an accident?”

Dean tries to think. “He was sharpening his knife and it slipped or something and he stabbed himself in the stomach.”

Lame. He knows how ridiculous this sounds. The last thing they need is the police investigating. Was it wrong to bring Sam here? But there is no other choice. His brother would be dead otherwise.

“Okay. I have all your insurance information. I’m sure the doctors will have some more questions later.”

“Can I see my brother?”

“Not yet. Let the doctors do their job. Someone will be out with an update shortly.”

He nods but wants to scream. Wants to break something. Punch someone. Instead he asks if there’s a restroom nearby. He surveys his own damage in the mirror above the sink. The cut on his forehead from the Baykok is dried up now. He washes it quickly and sees no more blood. The cold water soothes, helps calm the dread coursing through his body.

Just hours ago he’d been thinking how it felt like he didn’t have a brother anymore. And now … _No_. He can’t think about this. They’ll get through this and talk. He’ll find out what’s in his brother’s freakish head and whether he likes what he hears or not, he’ll deal. Sam is all he has. He can’t … 

A physician comes out to meet him. Dean doesn’t even notice the doctor’s a woman until she’s finished her introduction and asked him to follow her to a private area. His gut is tight. As he walks behind her a distant part of Dean registers an attractive woman, mid-thirties, blonde hair in a taut pony tail, wearing a crisp white coat.

“How is he?” he blurts quickly.

“I don’t think it was an accident,” the doctor begins.

Dean pales and shifts backward. 

“Your brother’s liver is missing, Mr. Crosby. In its place is a stone.”

The world spins. Dean knows he’s dropping but doesn’t even have the strength to put his arms out. His knees crack on the hard floor tiles. But she ignores him, is still talking, even as Dean struggles to regain his feet. _No, no, no_.

“He’s still alive but he’ll be dead within the hour. I … I can’t understand how someone could mutilate his own brother.”

There’s a sound behind him. Blue uniforms fill his peripheral vision.

“Hands where we can see them,” a harsh voice orders.

He looks up into the dispassionate doctor’s face. Her hair is loose now, swirling around her face. The coat is open, revealing a clingy white dress _something’s off_ … but then he’s begging into her ice blue eyes. “Let me see him. Please. Just take me to him. He’s my … he’s my …” 

She tilts her head and stares at him without pity, like she’s … bored now. “Get him out of my hospital.”

His upper arms are seized in two merciless vise grips. He’s too dazed at first to fight, but out in the hallway he spins wildly, he has to see Sam one last time, maybe Cas … and then out of the corner of his eye he sees a man lingering outside the door where they’d wheeled Sam. Short blonde hair, wide mouth wearing a cocky grin. The Devil throws him a mock salute and disappears into his brother’s room.

“No! Sam, _Sam_ … SAM!”

**Chapter 4**

“Dean, _Dean_ … DEAN!”

Dean stares uncomprehendingly at Cas.

“We’re here. Take your brother inside.”

They are standing outside an emergency room. Dean blinks rapidly, world spiraling. _What?!_ Sam is on the ground at his feet. _Sammy_. He kneels and feels his brother’s pulse. Alive. He scans the area for policemen but they are alone. _How? Where is Lucifer?_

“Help! My brother needs help!” he shouts because it’s all he can do.

Sam is wheeled into an examination room as Dean stumbles alongside. His brother’s blood is on his hands, his shirt, his face. He expects to be carted away in handcuffs any second and grips the gurney carrying Sam with an iron fist. A nurse asks if he’s okay, speaks gently to him but Dean’s eyes stay glued on Sam. Lucifer can’t have him. It will not end this way.

Another man approaches. Young, Hispanic, blue scrubs. “Please, sir. We need you to step back and let the doctors treat your brother. Wait here.” He points to the back of the small treatment room. They don’t ask Dean to leave. Not that it would matter. He’s not letting Sammy out of his sight.

White coats swarm. Dean struggles to see, to hear. Words impinge on the jello that is his mind … _knife wound, laceration, internal bleeding, CT_. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

“Cas! You have to stop doing that.”

“Sorry. I thought you needed me.”

The caring in Castiel’s gaze threatens to undo him. “Do you know … is Sam’s liver still there?”

“Yes,” Cas replies.

Dean slumps and Castiel steadies him, hand on his elbow. “Cas, Lucifer was … _is_ … here. Sam is dying and Lucifer’s going to take him.” Dean’s voice is as hoarse as when he screamed under Alastair’s knife.

“That did not happen, Dean.”

“But it did! The police blamed me … said I mutilated … Lucifer was in the hospital.”

Cas, troubled, touches Dean’s chin and pulls his head forward so their eyes meet. “Lucifer is strong, Dean. Never forget this. He’s been holding back but now it seems he is prepared to unleash his full power. He can manipulate the unconscious. Not only when you are asleep.”

“Waking dreams?” Dean asks in a whisper. “It wasn’t … Sam’s okay?”

“Mr. Crosby? Your brother is being taken for a CT so we can ascertain internal damage. The cut was quite deep and his liver’s been lacerated. You can wait here if you wish. We’ll bring him back shortly. He’s lost a lot of blood but we’ve stabilized him. Can you tell us what happened?”

“An accident,” Dean says. “Sharpening a knife.”

The young doctor nods, jots down a note and walks away. Cas is gone. Dean’s head is reeling like he’s been chewed up by the Wendigo and spit back out. Sam has his liver. _It wasn’t real_.

A heartbeat later, Cas is back.

Dean pounces on him. “You said Sam was with Lucifer … was that a dream?”

“Yes. The sigils are still protecting you both. He does not know where you are.”

“So how did you know…?”

“Lucifer is my brother. As angels we are connected. I sensed … remnants of Lucifer floating in Sam’s subconscious. This can only come from such a dream.”

“Do I have these remnants?”

A moment’s study, then Cas answers, “Yes.”

“Can he track Sam and me through you?”

“No. I cannot tell where Lucifer is and he cannot find my location. We both have protections against this.”

The doctor is back. “The knife lacerated your brother’s liver, but fortunately no other organs were damaged. There’s still some internal bleeding but we want to wait and see if it stops on its own. If we can avoid surgery that’s preferable. We also noticed bruising to the back of his skull. Did your brother fall down or was he struck in the back of the head with anything? He has a concussion.”

Dean stares blankly because he doesn’t know, wasn’t there for whatever went down with the Baykok. He answers honestly. “He was out cold when I found him. It’s possible he fell and hit his head. I’m sorry … I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s okay. Of course you were concerned with the abdominal wound. Your first aid saved your brother’s life.”

The doctor’s words twist his insides with how close he came to being too late. The Devil’s nightmare still snakes through his mind.

“Can I see him?” he begs.

The doctor isn’t sure about the idea. “He’s sedated for pain, pretty out of it. We’ll have to keep monitoring the bleeding and run another CT in an hour or so.” He relents at Dean’s pleading stare. “Okay … only for a few minutes.” He turns to Castiel. “Are you family, too?”

“I am a friend,” Cas says softly.

Dean wishes Sam could hear Cas say this. He needs them on the same side. Before Lilith … Cas _all the angels_ had threatened Sam. Dean knows now that they were lying double crossers who wanted to help push Sam dark. But at the time it had scared the wits out of him, Sam ready to take on the _heavenly hosts,_ so full of his demon juice that he maybe coulda done it. But that wasn’t his brother now …

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “Just family for now. Later, when we get the patient stabilized, we’ll allow other visitors.”

Dean thanks the doctor and looks briefly at Cas.

“I’ll wait here, Dean,” Cas says simply. Dean starts toward the room the doctor came from, thinks of something.

“Dude, my car?”

Cas’s face approximates a smile. “It’s in the hospital parking lot.”

* * *

“Dean, c’mon, just let me get out of here,” Sam whines for the hundredth time.

Dean inhales in a long-suffering manner but his eyes contradict the annoyed act. “You can’t. Not yet. They are watching your noggin for the concussion and your middle for signs of bleeding. They aren’t going to release you until tomorrow at the earliest, so chill, dude.”

Dean leaves in search of coffee.

Sam hates this involuntary captivity. They can’t stay here. Lucifer’s threat to Dean is preying on him. _Sam … a deal is deal. Dean has welshed long enough. It’s time for him to come back._ Welsh. Even the word repulses. Sam wants to get up, to pace his anxiety out. Needs his laptop. Must be a way he can get Dean out of this. Not being able to keep Dean from going to Hell the first time hurt Sam’s insides worse than the knife wound. Hell kept a part of Dean’s soul. His brother has given more than any one human should be asked to give. This can’t happen again. Sam will not survive it a second time.

Cas walks in. “Hello Sam. How are you feeling?”

Sam looks behind him for Dean but Cas is alone.

This isn’t the first time Cas has been by and his visits surprise Sam. It is hard to reconcile the angel’s current concern with Cas’s blunt prior assessment that Sam is responsible for the Apocalypse, _because he made the wrong choice._ As if Sam needs a reminding of his failures. As if every day he isn’t aware that the entire world is fucked to hell because him.

“Like I told Dean, I think I’m good enough to leave here.”

Cas gives him that damn angel head tilt. “The doctors wish to monitor you a little longer. You should listen to them. Dean would not want to risk your leaving too soon and jeopardizing your health.”

 _Dean_. Always, it goes back to Dean. Sam thinks of his brother and Castiel. How they speak without words. How the unintentionally funny things Cas says make Dean smile like he can remember _happy._ Dean used to look at Sam like that -- trust so complete it was a physical bond. Now all he sees is wariness in his brother’s eyes. Worse, Sam even thinks Dean may be scared of him. Does he see Lucifer shining out from his eyes? Is Dean simply waiting for the day when he will finally follow their father’s fateful words and kill him?

“I’ll follow doctor’s orders,” he tells Cas. “How’s Dean doing?”

“He was worried about you. But now that you are better I believe he will be fine.”

Sam hasn’t said anything yet to anyone about Lucifer’s threat. Can’t find the words. Doesn’t want to put that weight on his brother. Dean carries too much already. Still has nightmares. Chokes and cries and curses in his sleep. And now this threat is back.

“Cas … while I’m out of commission can you stay … have Dean’s back?”

“Of course, Sam. In the meantime, you should rest. Build back up your strength. We all have much ahead of us. But remember the path is not set. You must stay strong. Choose wisely.”

Sam mutters thanks but feigns tiredness and Cas mercifully leaves. Choose wisely. _Not like last time when you set Lucifer free._ The Devil is getting stronger, is getting to him. The dream in the cave replays on a constant loop. The power _He_ had, the blinding grace. How can Sam be expected to overcome this?

God, he wants to go somewhere and hide. A rocky beach with gently rolling waves. Jess and he used to head to Half Moon Bay for stolen long weekends a lifetime ago. When he closes his eyes he can hear her giggle as the water tickled her toes. She’d kiss him long and hard and hungry for what felt like hours as the sun would melt and a chill set on the shore. Then they’d return to their room and the warmth of each other’s body would make the chill vanish. Sam pushes the ache from the memory away. That Sam died with Jess.

Dean returns sipping from a Styrofoam cup and stops short as he sees Sam running his palm across his eyes.

“Sammy?”

“’S nothing. I’m fine.”

Dean pulls a chair up to Sam’s bed and sips at his coffee again before placing it on the bedside table. “No. You’re not. It’s time we talk about this.”

Sam stares at Dean unsure of what he means.

“I know about Lucifer. He gave me one of those awake dreams, too.”

Dean is looking at him with an all too familiar mixture of wariness and distrust and Sam thinks _, shit, I should have said something right away_ because now the suspicion is radiating off his brother like smoke from a chimney.

“I’m sorry Dean,” Sam says. Too little, too late. The damn story of his life.

“I don’t want an apology, Sam. I want to know what he said to you. He wants us apart. Isolated. Easier to pick us off that way.”

Sam nods but isn’t ready … hasn’t yet come up with a way to tell Dean that Lucifer plans to return him to Hell. He feints. “He came to you, too? When? When I was in the cave with the Baykok?”

“One at a time little brother. You first.”

Of course he has to go first. Whatever Lucifer said to him has clearly jeopardized the world more than anything Dean has ever done. Guilt slaps down his anger. That isn’t fair. It’s not Dean’s fault. Never was. Sam’s the tainted one. Lucifer’s chosen vessel.

“We were in a fancy room. Like a wing of an art museum or an old mansion. He knew … knew I was in trouble. Asked where I was. I didn’t tell him.”

Dean looks at him hard. “Good,” he says. “Did he ask you to say yes again?”

“No. Well, not directly.”

Now he has his brother’s attention. “Out with it Sam. What was the threat?”

_Dean is screaming, writhing on the floor, his jeans disintegrate in jagged bloody streaks, scarlet jets geyser from his chest as his life spills out of him and the Hell Hounds drag him to…_

“He threatened _me_ , didn’t he Sammy?”

“He said that … he is going to take you back to Hell. The contract’s not broken. The Hell Hounds in Carthage are just the beginning.”

**Chapter 5**

Sam doesn’t get his wish to get out of the hospital. Two days later he’s still in bed and the doctors tell Dean that Sam developed a staph infection. He’s being treated with antibiotics.

Dean follows the young doctor’s explanations best he can, asks some questions that all basically amount to, “Will he be okay?”

The doctor is stone faced and direct. His brother is running a persistent fever. Some staphs are known as MRSA, and are resistant to antibiotics.

“But, he’ll be okay, right?” Dean repeats.

“Let’s give it some time.”

And Dean is back to wanting to punch someone.

He’s standing outside Sam’s room when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Yeah Bobby?”

“How’s Sam?”

Dean relays what he’s just been told. The older man gives a _humff_ and sighs. “Hospitals. Darn places always make you sicker than you started out.”

“I know it,” Dean replies.

“Got somethin’ about what you told me.”

Dean has alerted Bobby about Lucifer’s threat to return him to Hell and the older man has started researching, looking for new signs.

“Yeah?”

“Lucifer’s army’s got lots of ranks – from grunts to higher-ups. Those demons closest to him … they’re like nobility in our own royal courts … and each has their specialty.”

“Azazel was one of ‘em. Yellow-eyed bastard.”

“Yep. Pretty high up, too. The one I’m thinkin’ might be gunning for you is Kimaris.”

“Say who?”

“He’s a Marquis. A Warrior. Rides a black horse – probably be a black car by today’s terms.”

Dean nods to himself. “Why him?”

“Been some signs. And his specialty is locating lost or hidden treasures.”

“And I’m the grand prize at the end of the scavenger hunt?”

“Somethin’ like that. Only not just you.”

 _Sam_. “You say you picked up signs this dude’s around?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s leaving a calling card at the local Hunter’s Society Secret Lodge … but, yeah, maybe. I’ve got Tamara researching some. She’s got some _grimoires_ that are older than dirt. Came from her grandmother.”

“Tamara and Isaac, Tamara?”

“Yep.”

_The woman is screaming, begging, fighting to stay with her husband, who is writhing on the ground, foaming acid from his mouth. They yank her away … too late for her husband …_

Another casualty of helping the Winchester brothers. Dean feels the weight of each death like chains across his back. Why fight it? Hell is where he belongs.

“Dean, you’re not gonna like what I have to say next.”

There’s a news flash. What has he liked lately? “Out with it Bobby.”

“This thing is a good tracker. You can move around. You can hide. But eventually it’s gonna find you. And if you’re together with Sam, then it’ll have you both.”

Dean can’t believe what he thinks he’s hearing. “Bobby …”

“No, now hear me out boy. You gotta consider you and Sam splitting up, at least for a while.”

He explodes, “Bobby … Sam’s still not out of the fucking woods with what happened with the Baykok and you’re tellin’ me to leave him! Shouldn’t have been on that damn hunt in the first place. Was foolish. I know Sam thinks anything we do that takes our eye off the ball is a waste of time. And I left Sam wide open—“

“You were helping Rufus, helping a friend. Man’s had your back before.”

Dean relents a bit. “I know … I didn’t mean, it’s just that Lucifer was able to get to Sam and then to me because we were vulnerable. And Bobby … whatever that SOB said to Sam … it’s gotten to him … there are things he’s not sayin’.”

“Yeah, well, Sam not talking is nothing new. Sam ain’t been Sam for some time now.”

Dean’s gut constricts. He’d looked for some good from this incident in the hopes that it would help him find his brother again. But Sam’s back to keeping things. If Lucifer hadn’t also mind fucked Dean, he’d never know that the Devil had spoken again with his brother. Suddenly it’s a year ago and everything is about secrets. He isn’t strong enough to go through this all over again.

Bobby hangs up saying that Dean has to at least think about this. Dean doesn’t agree but thanks the older man because it’s Bobby -- who is in a wheelchair only because even possessed Bobby had skewered his own gut rather than kill Dean. He wishes he wasn’t afraid of flying so that he and Sam could take off for Bobby’s house immediately and never leave it again.

Dean walks into Sam’s room and is stunned at what he sees. Sam is thrashing, hands under the thin blankets, centered near his … crotch … like he’s protecting himself. Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins like a pistol releasing racers from their mark and he bounds to Sam’s bed. Dean wonders if Sam’s dreaming about the Baykok … Sam had been naked … had the creature injured Sam … there? But he and Rufus had looked his brother over and had only seen … _blood oozing out his middle, squirting in quick bursts_ … Even if they hadn’t noticed any other injuries, surely the doctors …

“Sam, Sammy … wake up. C’mon, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

He touches his brother’s forehead and it’s hot. But they’re treating the infection, Dean shouldn’t panic.

Glazed eyes suddenly open to meet his. “Hey there, Sammy,” Dean says.

“Lucifer … ”

Dean swallows. Is the bastard back in his brother’s mind? He tries again. “Sam, it’s me. You’re okay. Wake up, man, please.”

Sam’s pupils are dilated in panic. He tries to raise his head but doesn’t make it far. Fevered, moist eyes focus on Dean’s face. “D’n, he saw me,” Sam whimpers as his hand covers his privates again beneath the blanket. “Lucifer. No clothes. He _wants_ me. ’S wrong … Oh God … And I can’t … I _didn’t_ move …”

Dean doesn’t understand what Sam is telling him. The words jumble and roll in his mind and he sees the distress contorting his brother’s face and it’s killing him that he didn’t keep Sam safe. “Sammy,” he says softly, taking his brother’s hand in his. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Sam closes his eyes and after a long moment Dean realizes that he’s fallen back asleep. The struggling has stopped and Sam’s body relaxes. And then like a bolt of lightning, the pieces fall together and Dean recoils at the image that stabs his mind because his brother wasn’t describing the kind of want that was about being Lucifer’s vessel. They found his brother prone, naked … That _vile, twisted, cockroach_ violated …

He races to the room’s small bathroom, falls to his knees and promptly vomits up the egg sandwich he’d grabbed from the hospital’s cafeteria that morning. Knowing that this monster molested his brother in his dreams is so excruciatingly hateful that bile continues to come up even when the contents of his stomach are gone.

A hand gently presses against his back and Dean jumps slightly. _Castiel._ He’s cried in front of Sam and years ago before his father but never anyone else. Only he can’t stop himself, can’t stop the hurt, the fury, the pent up need to choke the thing, the creature that did this, is doing this … He’s faced evil, has faced abominations his whole life but has never felt as helpless as he does right now.

Questions race through his mind and he knows that Cas may know the answers but he can’t ask … is too ashamed, embarrassed, afraid to know.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “I know about the infection but Sam is strong. I believe he will be okay.”

“I know,” Dean says. He forces air into his lungs and rises to splash water on his face. “I’m just … tired.” Dean sees himself in the mirror, ashen, dark circles under his eyes … _beaten_.

His friend looks at him, brows furrowing.

“You are concerned about Lucifer?”

Alarmed he stares back. “What are you mind reading again?”

Cas looks surprised. “No. It’s just since you told me about Lucifer’s threat … I thought …”

Breaking eye contact and looking down Dean asks, “Cas … in the dreams … sleeping, waking, whichever … how real is it? I mean, for me, I thought it all happened. Even when you woke me I still thought … Did it really happen to Sam?”

Cas studies him. He seems to be waiting. Dean remains silent. Finally Cas answers, “Lucifer cannot physically harm your brother … or you … from within a dream. But he is powerful, persuasive … he was the most stunning of my brothers. One would instantly weep upon seeing him because he was so beautiful. My Father’s most perfect creation until pride brought him down. Now, he is twisted, he has forgotten how to love. The Lightbringer is bathed in darkness.”

Sam had been crying. Was he shown the light or the darkness? And God help him because Dean isn’t sure which would make Sam cry.

* * *

Whatever cocktail they put into Sam’s IV drip finally does the trick because by the next day the doctor is decidedly smiling. The fever breaks and Sam doesn’t bring up the Devil or anything else relating to his feverish confession. Dean manages to squeeze in a query about whether there had been any additional unconscious visitations and Sam says no and asks the question back with such immediate concern that Dean believes Sam is telling the truth.

He sits by his brother’s bedside and fills him in best he can.

“A _marquis_?” Sam asks his face breaking out in a weak grin. “Bobby said this?”

Dean smirks. “I know … sounds like the name of a cocktail, or a stripper, right?”

Sam shakes his head but his expression quickly turns serious. “We gotta be careful. I know you hate hearing this … but we have to lay low.”

“Sounds good to me. Can use a vacation about now. Can you drive to Bermuda?”

Sam eyes him doubtfully. Hesitates like he knows this isn’t going to go over well. “Dean … if this thing’s gonna track us, the thing to do would be to split up. Make it harder …”

 _Dammit_. “No. Sam. No. I told Bobby the same thing. I’m tired of giving these dicks what they want.”

“Bobby said we should split up?” Even though Sam just thought of the same thing the fact that Bobby has suggested it brings out the bitchface.

“He … mentioned it as one idea … but it’s a _bad_ idea. I told him no already so there’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam sits up tighter, eyes flashing. “So we’re back to you calling all the shots, are we? ‘Cause that always ends well, doesn’t it?”

Dean looks stricken. Sam regrets his words immediately but something about Dean’s distant stare makes him realize that his brother isn’t thinking about the Baykok. _Oh God. No, he hadn’t meant …_

“Jo insisted … I knew we should go alone, shoulda fought harder, then maybe they’d … ”

Dean walks to the room’s window, turning his back. Sam sees his brother’s shoulders contract as he struggles for control.

“Dean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean Ellen and Jo. It was their decision. They wanted in, were tired of being pawns all their lives to evil … like we all are. Jo … she wanted to be where you—” Dean shudders. Sam wants to hit himself. _Twist the knife deeper. God, couldn’t he just shut his mouth?_

Dean doesn’t turn around but Sam knows what’s happening. He doesn’t remember seeing his brother cry when the Harvelles died. Thought Dean’d found a private place to grieve. Now Sam thinks maybe not.

“With Jo …you know I didn’t … not like she did … but I might have.”

Sam knows that Jo was in love with his brother. Heck a blind person could have seen it. He knows that Dean didn’t love her back, not like that. But Sam didn’t know that Dean thought he someday could have. This hurts. The loss feels fresh, it’s happening all over again. But Sam doesn’t know what to say, feels helpless as he lies in bed, hooked up to tubes while his brother stands hurting across the room. Like so many times before when his brother bared his heart, Sam has nothing to say.

* * *

“Kimaris. Are you sure? This is bad.”

Just once Dean wishes someone would tell him something he didn’t already know.

“Cas. We’re past that page already. Tell us something we can use. How we avoid him for one. Even better. How do we kill the son of a bitch?”

“The Colt will work.”

Dean stares at Castiel with disgust. “Like it worked so well on his boss.”

“This is different. Kimaris is not Lucifer. He’s not even as high as Azazel who you did kill with the Colt. It _will_ work.”

Finally. One good thing. Well, he had the weapon and enough bullets. If it found them, he’d be ready.

He remembers what Cas said. “Why is it bad?”

“In addition to being an amazing tracker this demon has certain other powers.”

Feeling impatient at dragging out the explanation Dean barks, “Such as?”

“Time manipulation.”

**Chapter 6**

Dean is driving. For now Sam hasn’t brought back up the idea of splitting up and Dean is hoping the notion will just go away. His brother has lost weight, his ginormous frame is gaunt, his color paler than usual and Dean knows the wound still hurts. Of course Sam doesn’t say anything about any of this. In fact, since settling into shotgun seat it’s been business as usual. A whole lotta silence.

After fifty or so miles pass Dean says, “Let me know if you need me to stop.”

He turns to Sam who simply nods, face staring straight ahead.

“Dean.” The voice from the back seat makes Dean jump and the car jerk.

“Dammit Cas, you have got to stop doing that!” That jostling couldn’t have felt good. “Sam, you okay?”

His brother dismisses him, turning toward Cas. “What’s up?” Sam asks their unexpected hitchhiker.

“You cannot go to Bobby Singer’s home.”

Dean is startled. First off, how did Cas know where they’re heading? And second, “Why the hell not?”

He flinches at his own choice of words. Knows the answer is related to Lucifer’s threat and fights back the goddamn fear.

“I sensed the Cerberus in South Dakota.”

The fear wins and Dean starts to sweat.

Sam says, “ _The_ _Cerberus_ … It’s … real?”

His brother is looking at him now and Dean is gripping the steering wheel so tight his circulation is cutting off. He pulls over on the wide shoulder. Given all the things that shouldn’t be real but are he doesn’t know why this particular monster is surprising Sam, but his brother’s mouth is practically hanging open.

“Yes. It guards the Gates of Hell. It’s been millennium since it has left its realm. Lucifer is quite serious about this,” Castiel says in his usual deep voice. “He wants Dean back.”

_The thing is massive, feral, blacker than the pit itself. Three distinct heads move in synch growling, roaring, foam flying from its enraged lips. Its enormous teeth end in razors and drip saliva in long gooey strings … the sulfur scent of its breath reaches Dean’s face in a gust of hot putrid air._

_“How do you like our mascot?” Alastair sneers. “I call him Skippy.”_

“Dean, Dean you okay?” Sam says from across the seat.

He’s not okay. He’s hot and sweating and then he’s cold and that thing … that beast is … _here_.

Barely breathing he responds, “Just need a minute.”

Cas’s hand is on his shoulder, head leaning in. “Dean. I will not let it get you. You will not go back.”

Dean fights the urge to reach up and touch Cas’s hand. _Too gay_. But he wants to … jeez, he wants a fucking hug. He glances at Sam. His brother looks even paler now. Shit, he looks frightened. And his instinct is to comfort, to make it better, it’s his job to keep his little brother from being scared. Dean blinks and when he meets Sam’s eyes again there’s a change. The panic has left his brother’s face and it’s been replaced with a determination that both assures and scares the crap out of him. Sam’s in full-out do not get in his way mode. And the mofo steel of that gaze is nothing he wants to get in the way of again.

“Sam?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

Dean doesn’t know what to say next. Isn’t sure he wants to know what Sam is thinking. Is too busy trying to keep from thinking himself. He shakes the cobwebs out of the way. They have work to do. He can’t be careless. “Cas … you say it’s in South Dakota … is … Bobby in danger?”

Cas meets his eyes. “No. I do not believe so. It’s looking for you.”

Well, that gives him something at least. He knows he’s pointing his baby as far away from Bobby’s house as he can.

* * *

A couple hundred miles later they pull into a nondescript motel for the night. Castiel has stayed with them and Dean asks for a triple room.

The duffel bags are dropped on their respective beds. Cas has nothing and looks around a bit befuddled. Sam stares at Cas, probably wondering why he’s still there. Dean takes over.

“You can sleep here … on that bed, if you want. I can give you something to sleep in.”

Cas looks at him in that way that makes Dean feel like there’s still a reason to care. He believes his friend when he says he can’t read his mind. But wonders if Castiel can read his soul. The angel has never expressed the need for sleep. Since disconnecting from Heaven, Cas is less angelic and a bit more … human … but Dean also knows Cas doesn’t need to stay and sleep. The only reason for him to stay is because Dean wants him to.

“Thank you,” Cas answers simply.

Sam says nothing but his face tightens a second before his usual blankness is back in place.

“All right then,” Dean says. He eyes the bathroom door. His body is so tense from the 500 miles they covered today he thinks he might petrify on the spot. He knows that leaving Sam and Cas out here alone is beyond awkward but he can’t worry about that now. Needs to feel the hot water to wash way … the stink of sulfur that is always there. He smells it on himself no matter how often he bathes.

Once, shortly after he came back he asked Sam if he smelled funny. Sam had looked at him and made a rude joke. He knew it meant then it was all in his mind. There was no smell. The first time that he’d been with a woman after he’d returned … _Jamie_ … he secretly feared she’d be disgusted … And when she’d touched his chest he’d shut his eyes ashamed of his scars … but there are no scars. Not visible in any case.

“Sorry dude, I’m calling dibs on the first shower,” he says before disappearing from Sam’s bitchy stare.

The pounding hot water feels good sloughing off his back and shoulders, kneading muscles locked up from driving all day. He touches himself and thinks maybe … but an image of Sam in the hospital bed, protecting himself interrupts and there’s no way … Grabbing the bar of soap he washes quickly, movements getting harsher until he’s hurting his skin with his nails as he rubs the bar back and forth across his abdomen where the hounds gutted him, where Alastair would run his knife every single day, reopening the cuts and removing bits of his gut and smashing the dripping pieces down his throat.

He swallows the first sob and brings his soapy hand to his mouth biting his fist, almost drawing blood to keep from crying out. His legs tremble and give out and he slides down the shower wall until he’s hugging his own knees and the water hits his face and blends with the tears _._

_Daddy … Daddy where is Mommy? Why did the monster want to hurt her and Sammy? I’m sorry, I’m sorry Daddy … I didn’t mean to … I looked away only a minute and he fell and will he be okay … and you promised, you promised you’d be here but it’s okay because we have to help it’s our job and I’ll try harder next time … please don’t leave me … don’t … Dad … Dad … Help me … Please help me … Sam …make it stop. It hurts. It hurts so much._

There’s a hard rap at the door. “Dean … ya might wanna leave a little hot water for the rest of us.”

Reality crashes back in on him and he forces everything back … way down, where nothing can reach him, nothing can touch him. _Please don’t hurt me any more._

He stands. Places his hand on the wall a second until he knows he’ll stay up. Shuts the water off and grabs a towel. Breathes in again and doesn’t say anything until he’s sure his voice will hold. “Sorry. Be right out.”

* * *

Sam’s been pacing. It’s just like Dean to first invite a freaking angel to share their room with them and then disappear for fucking ever in the bathroom. Whenever Dean takes this long Sam figures all kinds of things are going on in there and he hopes his brother cleans up after himself for a change.

Dean emerges finally and his face is wan, his eyes shadowed but Dean’s attention goes immediately to Castiel. Cas is sitting on his designated bed. He’s got his trench coat and shoes still on and his posture is straight and stiff and somehow the sight is enough to draw a small smile from Dean’s parched lips. Sam forgets his annoyance. With a moment of almost pain he remembers how Dean used to smile. A beautiful, rich beam that lit up his entire face and turned his eyes emerald green. This is a wan imitation, a mere hint of a lift at the sides of his lips, not reaching his eyes.

Sam thinks back and realizes he hasn’t seen Dean’s real smile since before Hell. Another part of Dean that’s lost. He disappears into the bathroom before anyone notices. The water’s tepid at best, as expected, turning Sam’s melancholy back to bitchiness as he shivers and races to finish and dress again before he freezes.

He hears the T.V. as he reenters the room’s main area and is not surprised to see Dean flipping through stations. Cas is still on the bed, but now his coat and shoes are off. Sam grins … Dean must have told an angel of the Lord to take off his shoes before lying on the bed. He sighs. They lead such strange lives.

“Okay,” Dean says suddenly. “You wanna explain to me how a ten-foot, three-headed, serpent-tailed monster traipsing around South Dakota isn’t getting any news coverage?”

Sam turns toward Castiel wondering if the angel got his facts wrong.

“Only those touched by Hell are able to see it.”

“Me,” mumbles Dean.

“And demons, of course,” Cas adds.

Sam looks from Cas to his brother, eyes narrowing. “I would see it, wouldn’t I?”

Dean looks sick when he realizes what Sam means but Cas simply nods yes.

Sam avoids Dean’s eyes. _Monster. Freak. Vampire_. He’s heard it all. Nothing new here. Besides seeing this particular monster is a good thing. Now he knows his plan has a chance of working.

The evening passes quietly. Cas unconsciously amuses. And he follows Dean with his eyes at all times. If Dean swung that way there’s no doubt these two would get together eventually. He assumes Cas knows about Dean and Anna … wonders how that went over. Angel rivalry? _Sibling rivalry?_ Ugh. Not that Dean boasted about the tryst or anything. Sam just knows his brother well enough to, well, _know_.

“Do you think I should start brushing my teeth?” Cas asks suddenly.

Sam catches Dean’s eye at this and they both smile.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Dean volunteers. “Dental hygiene’s important. Especially if you want to score with the chicks.”

Sam is really fighting back a laugh now.

Dean rummages through his duffel. They always keep extras of the basics. “Here,” he says pulling out a toothbrush still in its packaging. “The toothpaste’s already out by the sink.” Cas disappears like a man on a mission.

They hear the tap turn on. Silence. Then a sort of groan, a flustered noise of things dropping _and squirting?_ and Cas lets out a loud _Oh for heaven’s sake._

Sam looks at Dean and they both laugh. It’s been so long that it feels odd to his ears. Dean rises and pats Sam’s shoulder before going to help their hapless friend. Sam wants to capture that touch and hold on to it forever. For a second, a blink of an eye … that was his brother in the room with him. His conviction steels that he’s doing the right thing even as he knows Dean will not agree.

They turn off the lights shortly after midnight. Sam falls asleep quickly, exhausted from the hours of research he’s done under the guise of web-surfing and the pain killers he snuck despite assuring Dean he no longer needs them .

He is startled awake by a loud yell, is up, knife out in a deadly stance before he’s fully conscious. Eyes scanning the dark room he sees nothing amiss. It’s just the three of them. Then Dean thrashes and yells again. Sam puts the weapon down and sees Cas’s alert eyes across the room. There’s a moment’s hesitation as to who will approach Dean first. Dammit, Dean is his brother. Sam moves toward him possessively.

He touches Dean gently, he’s knows how to handle this although it’s been a while. There are degrees to the terrors Dean faces in his sleep. If he’s aroused too quickly from a light nightmare, well, Sam’s gotten slugged more than once. Other times it’s difficult to wake Dean up at all. And some … “Sam … _Sam_ … SAM!” Some pretty much destroy Sam on the spot.

“I’m here. You’re okay. Dean, c’mon, wake up.” Dean twists in the sheet, pushes Sam away.

Castiel approaches slowly. He looks at Sam for permission before placing his hand on Dean’s forehead. Dean stills, rolls over, and Sam sees that it’s done. Dean’s eyes open groggily. Cas moves quickly away and returns to his bed.

“Sammy,” Dean says blinking, voice hoarse. Sam is still holding his brother’s hand but it’s dark and neither let go.

“You were dreaming again,” he explains.

“’M sorry.”

 _Don’t be._ God it’s all his fault. If only he’d killed Jake in Cold Oak when he had the chance so Dean didn’t make the damned deal.

But Sam says nothing. Releases Dean’s hand and after another moment asks, “You okay?”

Dean looks away embarrassed and mumbles another apology. This is the one thing Sam cannot bear to hear again so he returns to his own bed and the rest of the night passes in awake silence.

* * *

Dean is going out of his mind. This cannot be happening. It’s his worst case scenario … well, the non-death kind … but it’s up there.

“How can you have let him leave?” he yells again at Castiel.

“I am not your brother’s keeper,” Cas says in classic straight man mode.

Dean is too upset to notice. “But you knew … you knew he had this shit for brains scheme of going to fight the freaking Cerberus on his own.”

“I suspected, yes, from the research he was conducting and the questions he asked.”

Dean had seen Sam on his laptop the past couple of days. And he had been pumping Castiel with questions about the beast but never, not in his wildest dreams, could Dean have imagined that his head case of a brother would go track this thing solo.

Fury races though his body. It’s fucking Lilith all over again. He wonders if Sam’s been using again. Perhaps he’s juiced up and that’s why he thinks he can take on the Guardian of Hell’s Gate like fucking Rambo.

The part of his mind that knows that his brother hasn’t left Dean’s side long enough to do more than piss, knows Sam doesn’t have access to any willing demons to offer him blood in any case, is fighting to be heard through the angry din in his head. And part of Dean feels sick that he’s been watching his brother that closely.

He sighs. Tries forcing himself to calm down. “Dammit,” he shouts again at no one.

“What do you wish to do?” Cas asks.

He stares at the angel. “Find him.”

“But Sam is tracking the Cerberus. If you find him you will find the beast.”

“I know.”

“Dean. The beast does not want Sam. It wants …”

“I know.”

**Chapter 7**

His hard working doctor would not approve Sam thinks with a grimace as he pulls the syringe out of his vein. Fills the tenth vial. Losing blood so shortly after the injury to his liver is probably not his brightest idea. But the blood is the key. And it’s either his or Dean’s. And it sure as heck won’t be Dean’s.

There are thirteen messages on his voice mail. Twelve are from his brother. One is from Bobby. The wrath in Dean’s voice rises as they progress. Bobby’s message is the most succinct. “Idjit. Call me.”

He knows he should call Dean. Chickens out and rings Bobby instead.

“Your brother’s going out of his mind.”

Sam sighs. “I know Bobby, I know. But we can’t let Lucifer drag him back to Hell.”

The older hunter is quiet a moment. “No. But Sam … the Cerberus is one mean critter … Going after it alone … you might as well just hang yourself right now.”

“I have a plan.”

“Was afraid of that.”

“It smells the taint of anything or anyone who’s been in Hell — and demon blood … Bobby, I can use my blood.”

“This is crazy, Sam …”

“No. Hear me out. I can lure it … set a trap with my blood.”

“A trap?”

“At the Devil’s Gate.”

“Fine. Let’s say it does get fooled by the blood. You think this thing’s just gonna stroll right back into Hell without a never-you-mind?”

Sam chuckles but it comes out forced. “Something like that. I’ll call again Bobby. I have to call Dean now.”

“You still ain’t called your brother! Boy, if you was little enough to still whup I’d do it myself! Dean is goin’ insane about your runnin’ off again!“

“I know Bobby. But I … have to do this.” _For Dean_. Because he can’t let that Hell beast drag his brother back into the pit.

Sam signs off and stares at the phone in his hand. Another message came in while he was talking to Bobby. Dean’s livid. He hears the accusation in Dean’s tone, his clipped words, the fury covering outright panic. He knows Dean’ll never trust him again. And it stings. _We can never be what we were._ Fine. But Dean isn’t going back to Hell. Not on his watch.

He doesn’t bother with hello.

“Don’t be mad. I know what I’m doing.”

“Sam?! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m going to take care of the Cerberus. Stay with Cas. Lay low. This isn’t the only thing hunting you.”

There is silence. Sam visualizes his brother seething between short breaths. “Tell. Me. Where. You. Are.”

There was a time Sam would not have been able to resist the sheer force in that order. That is Dean. Then he remembers the screams at night, the agony, the thrashing, the groans. Desperation. And _Sam_ … _SAM!_

“I have to go. Be careful.” And he hangs up.

As expected the phone rings again immediately. He’ll have to ditch it. Dean will track it. Of course Bobby knows where he is heading. Hopefully that will buy him enough time.

* * *

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said, Dean.”

“It’s crazy. One flew over every cuckoo that ever nested. It’s _fucking_ nuts.”

“I know it. But you know Sam.”

And he did. Stubborn. Fool-headed. If Sam thinks he’s right then nothing and nobody stands in his way. Certainly not Dean. Yeah, he gets that this is about trying to save him from Hell. Again. That Sam still blames himself for failing last time. He knows Sam watched the Hell Hounds tear him apart. If it had been the other way around Dean would have swallowed his gun for sure. But even knowing Sam’s intentions are good, it isn’t enough. Didn’t assuage the heart stopping fear of that thing near his brother.

Castiel guessed Sam’s intentions. The blood is the lure. _Bleeding out when you’re still so weak? What are you doing Sammy?_ Once the creature picks up the demon-scented blood it will follow. Dean has figured out the rest. Because it can’t be just any demon blood. It has to be Winchester blood. So the Cerberus believes he’s tracking Dean. Sam is literally spilling his blood for Dean.

Bobby gives Dean the last piece of the puzzle. The destination.

Cas looks at him questioningly as Dean puts his phone back in his pocket.

“We’re going to Wyoming.”

* * *

Sam likes the desert. There’s something about the colors – corals and ashy greens, and horizons that glow pink as a blushing young girl. He passes huge Saguaros and squat Prickly Pears and tumble weeds rolling in the hot wind. But this trip he’s not seeing any of it. He’s too focused on the task at hand. Can’t allow distractions. Besides, nature belongs to the natural, _not him_.

He resists looking in the rear view mirror. He won’t see the creature _too far away_ but he knows it’s there. His blood has been humming … vibrating under his skin in a way that it hasn’t since Ruby. _Since Lucifer._

For a moment he wonders what Dean would do if he was aware of the degree of Sam’s depravity? Dean knows about the blood drinking. Knows that Sam and Ruby had been lovers. But Sam’d never spoken of what they did. The hours he’d spent lost inside the demon, swallowing her up until his heart was as black, empty and dead as hers.

At the beginning, when Dean was first gone and every minute hurt, he’d wanted to end it. Came really close but clung to a futile hope that maybe he could still save Dean somehow. And when he finally realized he couldn’t, he died. There was no Sam. There was only a body that consumed, fucked and hated. Often all three at once. Gulping down her blood while he pumped inside Ruby’s cold core, he’d wished he could kill her, gut her even as he fucked her … gank her like every other soulless scum that took everything from him. He’d come and collapse on top of her and sometimes a stray human remnant drew tears from his eyes and Ruby would whisper sweet words and pet his hair and hush the pain away until he was dead again.

So this is a risky plan. And Dean is rightfully pissed. Survival is a long shot. But no way … no way does Dean go back to Hell. Because it isn’t just Dean that would die.

The Nevada Devil’s Gate is a long-time rumor in the hunting world. Dean is smart but he’ll naturally assume Sam’s heading to Wyoming where they are sure there’s a gate and where everything went wrong the first time. Now there’s some 750 miles between them. He has to plant his blood and then wait. He’s pleased that the first part of his gamble is paying off. Maybe Dean wishes he had a brother who’d stay close and follow orders, but Sam can’t. For once his demon-tainted blood is doing some good. It’s close enough to Dean’s _thank you DNA_ to fool the Cerberus and it’s touched by Hell. Yeah, it’s dirty and dank and tasty enough to attract this stupid beast and hopefully, send it back where it belongs.

* * *

“Dean. You need rest.”

“I’ll rest when we get there.”

“We can get there immediately if you—”

“No. Messes me up for days afterward. Sometimes longer. Need to be sharp. We’ll get there this way just fine.”

Castiel is quiet. Dean can sense that the other man isn’t done arguing. Waits for it. “When you are with Sam you share the driving.”

Dean wants to just disagree but he doesn’t just want to tell Cas to shut up. “Sometimes we split the driving. But I drive most of the time. Always have. I like driving. Calms me. Quit worrying.”

“I do not worry.”

 _Right_. Then what the heck has Cas been bitching about for the past 80 miles?

“Dean?”

Dean lets out an exasperating sigh. “What?”

“Do you not need to eat?”

 _Hmm._ Now that he thinks about it when was the last food break? Some states ago it feels like. Maybe Cas has a point. The Cerberus can’t fly … it’s not faster than a car. Well, not his car at any rate. Thinks for a moment that he’s racing straight for the creature that’s inhabited his nightmare for freaking decades. Smart move Winchester _._

Grudgingly he concedes. “Okay. I’ll pull over next town and we’ll find a room and grub and head out again at dawn.”

“Do you wish me to sleep with you?”

Dean almost steers the Impala off the road. _What?_ Then he realizes Cas means share a room. He rolls his eyes at his own mistake. He remembers again that the angel doesn’t need to sleep. And dammit he doesn’t want Cas to vanish. Doesn’t want to be alone in some crappy room. It’s all Sam’s fault. Running off half-cocked after that demon bitch. No, that was Ruby … he means the creature. Oh shit, his brain is pudding. He _is_ fucking tired.

They pull into a run-down flea trap and Dean realizes he never answered Castiel’s oddly phrased question. Nonetheless, the angel silently follows him into the room. Inside, Cas asks, “May I have the bed nearest the window?”

That’s the bed Dean used to take automatically. The one closest to the door. Closest to the window. First in the line of fire. To protect Sammy. Dean hopes Cas understands the thanks and the gratitude and the friendship he can’t say with words. Outside of his brother and his father _and his mother long ago_ nobody cares for him like this and it feels good. _Safe_.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says, breaking eye contact before he really gets emotional. “You can have that bed.”

* * *

The doorway to Hell is hidden in an old overgrown cemetery in the hills of Nelson, Nevada, not far from the infamous Techatticup Mine. Known as one of the bloodiest gold rush towns of Eldorado Canyon, the area was legendary for its lawlessness, serial murders and the worst depravities that man could produce. Sam suspects those hapless miners had a little help in the terrorizing department from the occasional escapee from the Devil’s playground.

In 2009, the town is practically deserted. A ghost town littered with the spirits of the miners and the settlers and the Spaniards and the Native Americans before them whose blood now lays comingled in the area’s parched earth. This pleases Sam because it is imperative he draw the Cerberus as far away from humanity _and Dean_ as possible.

Sam parks strategically, making sure his car is as accessible from all directions. It’s not much, but it gets up to 90 on the highway. There’s not a big chance it’ll be a getaway vehicle, but hey, just in case of a miracle …

There’s nobody around. The air is dry and dusty. No outward stench but he can still smell death here. It’s the lack of life, the desolate vibe. More than empty. Hollowness comes up out of the dirt and grabs you as you walk, chilling you deep, whispering to lie down and never rise again.

His blood is telling him he won’t have to wait much longer. It’s coming. Sam has to stand near the door, has to let the creature open it because Sam can’t open it by himself. He prays that the ancient texts he painstakingly translated are true.

Sam wonders what Dean is doing. He isn’t sure when Dean will figure out that Sam has tricked him about Wyoming. His brother has a way of playing dumb but he’s the smartest hunter Sam knows. Underestimating Dean is never a good idea. He learned that lesson last year. Has been apologizing for it ever since. But this is different. He’s not about to start Armageddon. _No, done that already_. He’s going to do the one thing he didn’t do two years ago. Dean is not going to Hell. And Lucifer’s pet is in for one heckuva surprise.

* * *

“Bobby. Where are you? Pick up, dammit. Something’s wrong. Okay. Call me.”

Dean shoves the phone back in his pocket and faces Castiel. “Sam’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

Dean eyes his friend. _Calm_. How great would it be to not feel anything? Lord knows he’s tried to shut off like that. Never works. Not long term. Sam can do it. Shit, Sam turned into a robot since the moment Dean reluctantly let his brother out of his arms in that motel room in Pontiac, after Dean had punched his way out of his grave. Dean closes his eyes a moment and can still feel the strength of his brother’s embrace, drawing him in, offering the first love, the first humanity in forty years. _Sammy_. He can start crying right now if he lets himself.

Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I think he chose another gate.”

The words shake Dean like a splash of ice water in his face. His blood starts to run just as cold. The ache he feels darkens until anger oozes out in spewing bursts. “That son of a bitch!”

“Dean?”

Dean’s phone rings disrupting them both. “Yeah?” Dean answers still wanting to pound his lying brother’s face to a bloody pulp. Before the Cerberus can touch him.

“It’s Bobby. You called?”

“Yeah. Sam’s not here. Where are you? Why didn’t you pick up?”

“Sorry to not be your beck-and-call girl. Sam’s not the only endangered species on this planet. Homo sapiens are disappearing mighty fast, too.”

Dean tries to temper his impatience. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Death. The Grim Reaper. The Pale Rider. Released when the goddamn Colt didn’t kill the Prince of Thieves. Any of this ring a bell?”

Bobby’s voice carries and Cas looks at Dean with serious eyes. “You’ve got a lead on Death?” Dean asks.

“Mmm. Been tracking mass … well, dyings I’d guess you’d call them. Pattern’s pretty obvious after a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“Easier to show ya on a map but basically she’s working her way around in the shape of a pentagram. The Devil’s mark.”

Dean startles. “She?”

“Oh yeah. Captured on video buncha times. Looker. Tall, blonde, wears …”

“A white silk dress.”

Bobby is clearly surprised, his voice notches higher. “You seen ‘er?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He looks at Cas. Sees the angel’s concern mirrored back. “Good work Bobby. Keep tracking. Don’t go after her. Got enough on my hands worrying about … He’s not here Bobby. Went to another Devil’s Gate. Gotta be Nevada, right?”

“Damn. Didn’t think … Yeah. Nevada. Eldorado Canyon. Dean that’s a two-day ride and he’s had a couple day’s head start.”

Dean sighs. Talking to Bobby makes his hot anger turn back to cold fear. He runs his free hand through his hair. “I know. I gotta go. Bobby, thanks. Be … be careful, okay?”

“You too, son.”

Eyes too bright, heart beating fast, Dean turns back to Cas.

“We are going to Nevada?” Castiel asks.

“Yes.”

“We aren’t driving.”

Dean suppresses his distaste of teleporting, _which is really way to fucking close to flying_ , places his hand silently on the angel’s shoulder and vanishes.

* * *

Sam hears the Cerberus before he sees it. He braces. The ground trembles with each gargantuan step it makes toward him. Dean had told him it was enormous. Each head the size of a small house. Sam’s seen ancient etchings, paintings, depictions from cave walls. Still, he’s not prepared when the creature fills his vision. Every childhood monster merges into this towering mass of malevolence. This _thing_ guards the Gates of Hell. Keeps the demons inside. It’s older than recorded history. Eternal, diligent, persistent. Now the creature wants the one thing it will never have – Dean. So Sam is going to send it home.

Its noses are twitching uncontrollably as the aroma of Hell-scented blood wafts through the arid air and reaches its nostrils. Two of the heads start to growl, then bark and Sam has to cover his ears at the sheer violence of the noise as it echoes across the empty terrain. The third head howls frantically then as it, too, picks up the scent. Sam swallows back his fear. _Here puppy._

Darkness extends as the Cerberus’s shadow eclipses the massive marble arched doorway to the stone crypt. The gate in the arch is rusted, dissolving – a mild wind would knock it down. The door beyond it, however, while chipped from the ages, stands as imposing as the day it was erected. Like the mouth to Hell in Wyoming, this door, too, has a lock. Only from the keyhole’s classic shape it apparently takes a traditional skeleton key. One that undoubtedly has been lost in the annals of time.

A human might need a key. The freaking guard dog of Hell itself? It doesn’t need a key to go home. The creature is so close that Sam can see its matted black fur, smell sulfur and heat. It’s stench is so strong he fears he might black out which would be a really bad idea.

 _GGRRROAARR!_ Sam flinches but stays hidden where he has crept inside the arch. It doesn’t see him. Six eyes but they’re all pulling in different directions, confused by the blood he’s spread as a trail to the archway to Hell. Sam can sense by its eyes, its posture, even the serpent dancing around its heads when its attention locks onto the blood covered door. _Sangre_ , the force of life. He’d used a lot of his fresh warm blood to paint the door crimson and despite the wooziness, the headache, the nausea, it is worth it. Has to be because there will be no second chance.

It happens quickly and the unlocking is more violent than Sam imagined. The moment the Cerberus comes in contact with the door it bursts open knocking the creature backward. Sam is knocked down by the force of the blast. Demons instantly swirl around the opening, warring, jostling, keening to be free. But the Guardian is there and it has one purpose, exists for one reason -- to keep Hell’s prisoners where they belong.

The beast gnaws and tears and slashes at the black billows of smoke, acid spittle flying, its venomous teeth shredding the demons into lightning flashes that shriek into nothingness. Chaos consumes the world and the battle lasts forever until the writhing swarm of Hell’s inmates begins to retreat.

Smeared with Sam’s blood the Cerberus pants in a circle like the wrongest puppy imaginable, unsure of what it’s captured. Hades pulls upon it in beguiling, enticing waves and it begins to surrender to the lure. _Home_. Sam hides behind the massive door now concealing him, knowing he still is in mortal danger of the Cerberus’ attention.

The demon-touched blood recognizes where it belongs … is yanking the creature forward, drawing it closer to Hell until one snout inhales the acrid burning air of its lair and with a last satisfied shudder it thrusts forward and crashes through the entry like a circus elephant tearing through a fiery ring. And it’s gone. Sam blinks thinking he has to be careful, can’t yet trust, remembers the Colt and Lucifer … but it stays gone.

Sam moves carefully into the open, knows he has to shut the door. Isn’t sure if the creature will realize it doesn’t have Dean, doesn’t know if it will leap back out. The energies of Hell are open to the Earth and the pressure is tremendous. Sam is big, strong … but the bloodletting has weakened him. He pushes the massive door with all he has but it barely moves. As Sam grunts with the effort the wound in his abdomen rips, blood leaks out and his shirt turns red … _And his Hell-touched blood is hungry to go home._

Sam feels the air electrify as a tempest stronger than anything on Earth grabs at his gut and yanks him toward the open maw of the Underworld. He’s on the wrong side of the door now, holding on to its edge for dear life but Hell wants him, tastes him, won’t give him up. His hands start to slip and he doesn’t know how long he can hold on. His heart thunders in blinding terror _he’s going to Hell_ and without thinking he cries out, “Dean … _DEAN_!”

**Chapter 8**

Weak. Bleeding. Drained beyond endurance. Sam Winchester does not stand a chance. His last thoughts are of his brother, of not being able to say goodbye, how much this will hurt Dean. _I’m sorry …_

“Sam. Sam … Take my hand!”

The voice offers salvation but it’s not the one he wants to hear. Sam struggles to open his eyes but the hot sulfurous swirls burn. _Lucifer_.

“Sam. Let me save you!”

Nick is before him … his face is scaly, mottled, more patches have come off -- the snake from the Garden is shedding its skin. Unblinking blue eyes, impervious to the acrid gusts, stare through to what’s left of Sam’s soul. Lightning silhouettes them as the Hell mouth recognizes its master and calls for His return. Sam stares into the Devil’s eyes. Knows he has seconds left to live. _Sees that Lucifer is nervous._ Suddenly Sam no longer wants to just die and deprive the Dark Lord of his body. Sam wants to drag the bastard back to Hell with him.

Sam seizes the hand of his enemy and with one strong pull lets go of Hell’s door and feels the relentless draw of the pit pulling both of them into the crackling abyss. Nick’s free hand twists out and he grasps the edge of the door which moves slightly toward them but ultimately holds. The insidious pull slows.

Lucifer is strong but his vessel is weakening. His powers are vast but they are contained in this puny shell. Sparks fly out of Nick’s eyes, ears, mouth as Sam struggles to pull the Devil to him. The force of Hell will give him the strength to end this. Sam can undo the horror he set loose on the innocents. Finally make up for all his mistakes. _I can make it right, Dean. I can send him back._

Sam feels the heat of the gaping vortex burn against his back. Lucifer fights but cannot get away. It is a stalemate … Lucifer is keeping Sam from falling into the abyss. But Nick’s body is not strong enough to break free. And Sam’s not strong enough to pull them both down.

Then Sam hears a strangled cry.

“SAM!”

_Dean._

Dean is suddenly there, eyes wild. It’s all or nothing now. Dean has to send them both. One push and Sam can pull the Devil back into his infernal prison. Sam can’t be saved any longer. But he can end this. He can make it right. He can be redeemed.

Dean freezes at the gate’s opening looking into the pit. The torture of a million blows burns on Dean’s face for one agonizing moment. _Dean,_ _I’m sorry. So sorry. Should have been me. I can make this right._ Sam wills his brother to hear him, locks his eyes with Dean’s and shouts, “Now Dean. _Shove the bastard back to Hell!”_

Sam sees the moment comprehension floods his brother’s face. Watches the emotions in Dean’s tormented eyes. “End it,” Sam screams. “It’s too late for me, but I can take him with me. Do it Dean. Now!”

Lucifer’s eyes go ebony as he slowly turns his head back. There is no mockery in the Devil’s voice now, just unyielding, unbearable truth. “You cannot save only one of us. If I go, Sam goes with me. You will kill your brother. You will send him to Hell in your place. Dean, pull me out and Sam lives. I promise.”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up!” Sam is screaming. “Don’t listen, Dean. Send him back. _DO IT!_ ”

Sam feels his body start to smolder as he slides further into Hell’s mouth. Nick’s grip on the door is loosening and the Devil is staring at his brother. Dean’s face hardens to steel.

His brother’s arm reaches out and the words twist out as if from the depths of Hell themselves. “ _Sammy_ … NO! Don’t you _dare_ let go of him!” Dean pries Nick’s hand from the door and pulls him forward with all his might.

Hell fights against releasing Sam but Nick’s grip holds him fast and Sam’s hurled forward with a wrench that tears something loose in his shoulder. His face is down in the dirt and it feels like the Baykok stabbing him again as he tries to move. Lucifer is prone on the ground a short distance away, face up, gasping. _NO! Dean you shouldn’t have … I had him. Dammit it was over_. Maybe they can still throw the bastard through the portal ... Sam tries again to move.

Frigid air touches Sam as another figure appears among the weathered headstones. Black-garbed, it strides to Nick’s battered form and reverently bends to lift Lucifer to its massive chest. Incongruously feminine yellow-white curls shroud its face as it looks at the man it is holding. Then it locks its incandescent silver eyes with Sam’s, before it vanishes with the Devil.

Sam collapses back onto the ground with a whimper. His brother is there, turning him, cradling him, mirroring the movements of Lucifer’s savior. Dean rocks him, murmuring inaudibly. Sam lifts one arm, hangs on to his brother, swallows snot and dirt and tears. He looks at the face of the man who just put Sam’s sorry life above the fate of the entire world.

“We could have ended this,” Sam forces out, throat still raw from Hell’s breath.

Dean looks at him, shuts his eyes. He doesn’t speak but his jaw twitches and Sam wonders what Dean is seeing. “I couldn’t Sammy. I _couldn’t_ …”

For a moment the feelings that Sam’s kept locked up tighter than a vault in Fort Knox break free and all he can see is Dean’s face with so much love that it’s hard to breathe. The weight of every pain he’s ever caused his brother washes over him and he wants to just curl up like a child against his brother’s chest and beg eternal forgiveness.

Castiel appears behind Dean. His voice urgent, “We have to close the gate.”

Dean turns his eyes to the open Hell Gate portal and Sam shudders at the torment he sees in every muscle of Dean’s body. Sam struggles to rise. He will do this. Won’t make Dean get any closer … but the tug-of-war with Lucifer has made his shirt sodden with blood and moving is like a knife thrust and Sam can only curl up and hold his stomach.

Cas pulls Dean to his feet and Sam watches, worthless, as his brother and the angel move to the thick door and push at it side by side. With each heave that takes him closer to the threshold Dean recoils. Sam realizes too late that just as he felt the siren call of Hell in his demon blood Dean is fighting its pull on him. And it seems impossible for Dean to survive getting any closer. Sam tries again to get up. _Dean needs him._ Then Castiel moves to touch shoulders with Dean and Sam hears the angel say “Now” and his brother and Castiel shove in unison slamming the door into place leaving an almost unearthly silence in its wake.

Dean is back at Sam’s side. Unbuttons Sam’s blood-soaked shirts, strips off his own and holds it tight against Sam’s belly. Sam places his hand over Dean’s and together they work to staunch the bleeding. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” he tells Dean. ”I’m not worth it.” Sam shudders thinking how close Dean had been once more to the jaws of Hell. The endless torture he endured all for the sake of a brother he thought was a monster. _Tainted. Dark_. Sam belongs in Hell. Yet Dean had to endure it.

Dean looks at him a moment and Sam waits for something … agreement, disappointment, regret. “I couldn’t,” Dean repeats. “Sammy … I couldn’t send you to …” There might have been more his brother intended to say but Dean’s voice fades and nothing else comes out. Sam knows that the tears leaking from his own eyes are not just from the pain of the reopened wound. His brother’s loyalty _goodness_ just screwed the whole world. And God help him Sam can’t help but feel relief.

Cas interrupts gently. “Kimaris knows we are here. It is how Lucifer found Sam. The demon is taking care of his master but he will be back.”

Dean looks at them both, confused. Sam remembers the ice cold eyes, captures his brother’s attention. “Blonde guy in black … like out of the pages of a vampire romance novel. Guess that’s the great tracker.”

Cas shoots Dean a puzzled look. “I’ll explain it later,” Dean tells the angel, already thinking ahead, assessing the danger – Sam is hurt. “Kimaris was here?”

“He took Nick … Lucifer,” Sam says.

Dean looks resigned at this, collects himself, is back in charge. “Sam, can you move?” He and Cas each take an arm and between them they half carry Sam back to the car he left … minutes ago? … hours?… a lifetime?

“Really Sam? An Escort. Best you could do?”

* * *

Sam’s patched up and riding in the passenger seat. Cas is gone. Told them there’s something he needed to check on and vanished with that invisible flutter. The pain settles into a rhythmic throb which he supposes is better than the tear-inducing perpetual stab. Sam knows he’d be better off spread out in the back given how he feels like he’s gone fifteen rounds with a possessed semi, but he’s too wired to rest despite the blood loss. His head is spinning from how close he’d come to dying and to winning.

Dean means well. He was trying to save Sam. But this was a huge fucking mistake. Dean should have pushed Lucifer into that pit and never looked back. Sam’s only human and it’s hard not to feel good about still breathing but he knows this reprieve is temporary. Every breath Sam draws means the chance of Lucifer getting his body is that much closer. The threat that Dean will return to Hell that much greater. And this cannot happen.

In a pain-filled fog, Sam remembers the night Lucifer first appeared to him disguised as Jess. _God that hurt_. The memory of Jess’s caresses mixes now in his mind with the lurid looks that Lucifer gave him in that museum room and his stomach churns, polluting the one clean thing he’s ever had in life with that abomination.

Lucifer telling him with that tender voice that Sam is his vessel. Desperation searing Sam’s very soul. He calls his brother’s phone, instinctively reaching for his lifeline, so scared he fears he won’t be able to form words. Dean’s voice is cranky, tired. Panic as Sam describes the situation. Final, concrete confirmation of every dread he’s ever had – he’s destined to become the Destroyer of all humanity.

Dean is uncharacteristically calm. Resigned. Even cold. Dean had expected this perhaps, Sam thinks now. _Monster. Freak_. Wasn’t quite that much of a shock. Sam begs his brother that night. _I want back in. I want a chance at redemption. Please._ But Dean has always spoken the truth no matter how much it hurts. _We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us — love, family, whatever it is — they are always gonna use it against us._

Sam has never been completely sure why Dean changed his mind. He was told about Zach’s future trip but the details are sketchy. Knows that when Dean called back Sam _nearly literally_ resumed breathing. And now, he’s more scared than he can begin to face. But nothing proves the validity of Dean’s fateful words better than the events of today. Because Dean can’t let his brother go even to save the world. So Sam knows what he has to do.

It’s quiet in the dark night on the black road. Sam turns to Dean, ignoring the physical hurt. Remembers the thousands of miles in the Impala with his brother behind the wheel. Snarking and whining and singing and driving Sam crazy. A sweet kind of madness. Never quiet. All of this happened to someone else. He knows he isn’t the same person any longer. Studies his brother a moment longer. Doesn’t have a clue what Dean’s thinking.

“Dean?”

Dean turns to him, alarmed, “You okay? It’s not bleeding again, is it?”

“No. I’m fine. I … Let’s pull over a moment, okay?”

He senses Dean’s anxious concern as he steers onto the shoulder. “Need a painkiller?” Dean asks.

Dammit, as if this wasn’t impossible enough. _Stop looking at me like that_ , he wants to shout at his brother. Stop freaking caring so damn much. Sam shuts his eyes a moment and shoves it all back down.

“Dean. I’m fine. It’s not … that. I want us to talk.”

His brother turns in the seat to face him. “Okay,” he says.

The concern in Dean’s face has shifted to wariness.

“You were right.”

Dean is surprised, then smirks. “I’m right about lots of things, Sam. You need to be a bit more specific. But if this is about apologizing for running off half cocked. Don’t bother. And if you ever do it again I’m gonna kill you.” Dean’s quiet a second, grins reluctantly. “Although you did take out the fucking Cerberus, dude. That was kinda awesome.”

Sam is disarmed by this compliment. It brings such a wave of pleasure that for a moment he wavers from his intent. _You’re my weakness Sammy. And I’m yours._ No. It has to go this way. It is the world’s _Dean’s_ only chance.

Bracing himself, Sam continues, voice flat, “I’m not apologizing, Dean.”

Dean’s face immediately chills.

“I mean you were right weeks ago, when you said we were better off apart. I … I’m leaving Dean. I’m not hunting with you any longer. We can’t be together because Lucifer plays us every time. That’s how he wins, Dean. And … He. Can’t. Win.”

Dean responds instantly. “You’re wrong. He wins by playing us against each other. He wins by your listening to him.”

This isn’t the argument he has been expecting and his temper flares. “I’m not doing this because Lucifer told me to!” _This is what his brother thinks? That he is already Lucifer’s puppet?_

“Sam …”

“No. Dean. You said it yourself … whatever … whatever is left between us it’s not worth … We could have _ended_ this Dean. Today. But you couldn’t …”

Dean explodes. “Shove you into Hell?! I know that’s what you wanted me to do. Send you and Lucifer both. And I couldn’t…” The anger vanishes with Dean’s next words, his voice is like sandpaper. “I’ve been there. I was there for 40 years.” Sam can barely stand to hear what Dean says next. “It’s worse than dying … it’s worse than … I told you what they did to me … and what I became … the things I did.”

Broken silence and then Dean’s anger is back as a shield. “Is that what you want? Finish what Azazel started and go full out demon?! Not Lucifer’s vessel but his loyal asswipe. Because that’s what would have happened if I’d let you go!”

Sam reacts in anger without thinking. “You think it’s not possible I can hold out? _Dad did_. Dad did for a hundred years! You told me what Alastair said. I’m not _you_ , Dean. I might have …”

Sam’s gone too far. He knows this even before the last words are uttered but it is too late because his brother flinches like a dog battered by a cruel master. Only it’s worse because his little brother wielded the club.

Sam tries to unsay it. “Dean. I didn’t … I shouldn’t have …”

Dean swallows, breathes deeply, shakes his head and won’t look at Sam. “’S okay. You’re right. Dad … “ He runs his hands over his face and is clearly trying to compose himself. Abruptly he throws open the driver’s door and he’s out of the car and down the slight incline. He walks to the nearest tree and Sam can see, even in the dim light, that his brother is shaking. He can’t bear it. Sam looks away thinking that going to Hell can’t have hurt as much as this.

Sam doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, trying to keep his feelings locked away. Then Dean is back in the car, touches the key in the ignition, stops, and speaks without looking at him.

“Look, Sam, you do what you have to do … Okay? I … you’re a grown man. I can’t tell you what to do. Lucifer holds all the cards and I feel fucked no matter what I do. So hunt by yourself or find another partner or go hide in a hole. Because really, I don’t give a damn any more.”

**Chapter 9**

“Where is Sam?”

“I don’t know.”

Cas’s eyebrows rise. “Again?”

Dean doesn’t reply. He fears if he starts speaking it will turn to snarling, which will turn to shouting and end in a barrage of venom that might never stop. He sucks in a deep breath. In his wildest nightmares he’s never imagined anything could hurt him again as much as Alastair in the pit. _Dad held out for a hundred years. I’m not you, Dean …_ It’s a hot poker through his heart. No. _Enough_. Just needs to remember _Sam chose to leave_ and move the fuck on.

“It’s okay Cas. We’ve gone our separate ways. For the best.”

Cas continues to look confused. “But you said that you needed your brother. That he kept you human.”

Dean snorts. “Not anymore.” He doesn’t have a brother any longer.

“Where will you go?”

Dean thinks _Bobby_. It’s the first, the only thought he has. He wonders for a second if Sam might head there but decides no. Sam doesn’t need anyone. He won’t seek out other hunters. He’ll stay alone. Dean knows this is smart. Keep away. Keep them alive. Good tactic. He should stay away from Bobby, too. But he’s not Sam. It’s the one true thing his brother said.

He turns to Cas. “Thought I’d check in with Bobby. See what’s up with his tracking of Death. I saw her, you know, in Lucie’s dream. Gives new meaning to Dr. Death. Bobby said she’s working her way around the country in a pentagram.”

Cas nods. “This is prophesized.”

Dean stares. “Chuck?”

“Yes. He shared this with me. I was with him while you and Sam …”

Cas drifts off. Dean figures his friend doesn’t know what to say about Sam. For the best. Over is over. What’s dead should stay dead. For once … Dean’s going to follow his own advice. Still … Dean looks at Cas. “Wanna come along?”

Cas looks at him with that intensity that Dean has come to depend on despite himself. The same look the angel first gave him a lifetime ago when he asked Dean if he believed he deserved to be saved. He can almost answer yes when Cas looks at him this way.

“Yes,” Cas answers. “Want me to drive?

Dean stares. Realizes Cas just made a joke. A darn good one at that. Wants to laugh. Tries to at least smile because the effort of that sentence is the nicest thing anyone has done for him in forever.

“Not just yet Knievel. But you can ride shotgun.”

It’s a long drive to South Dakota. Dean’s not sure if the angel plans to stick with him the entire way. Looks over a few times as they pass farms and fields and huge empty patches of nothing. Cas stares ahead, rigid, straight. Not for the first time, Dean wonders what the angel thinks about. He knows Castiel misses his family. That leads to an onslaught of bitterness so he decides it best to think about something else. Dean is aware that Cas’s powers continue to fade. He’s starting to feel the effects of alcohol. Which reminds Dean of that last night with Ellen and Jo. Damn it’s hard avoiding these mental mine fields.

How does Sam do it? Of course that thought is also forbidden. Dean’s brain feels like Swiss cheese. It’s missing pieces that at one time made him who he was. He’s bifurcated now. Trifurcated, if there is such a word. He hears Sammy teasing him about knowing a big word. Stick to the Swiss cheese. Easier analogy. He listened in school once in a while. Enjoyed English class not that he ever admitted that to anyone. Fucking liked Shakespeare, truth be told. Dude told a good story. He turns toward Cas.

“You ever read any of our literature?”

Cas seems intrigued by Dean’s question. “Yes. Some. I found some of _your_ literature fascinating.”

Dean’s taken aback. “My literature?” Except for his journal Dean didn’t own any books.

“Well, periodicals,” Cas explains.

This time a smile does make it all the way to Dean’s lips. Not quite his eyes, but it’s a start. ‘Literature’ and his periodicals don’t usually end up in the same sentence.

“There were some interesting interviews,” Cas elaborates.

And this time Dean chuckles outright.

When his stomach starts growling Dean stops for food. “I can wait in the car,” Castiel volunteers.

Dean grins at him. “You could also come in with me.”

Dean settles in with his double bacon cheeseburger, aware of the cute waitress’s odd stare at his non-eating companion. “Food allergy,” he tells her.

“Could you eat?” he asks Cas when she is out of earshot.

The angel looks down at the Formica table top and then back to Dean. “I don’t need nourishment.”

“That’s not what I asked. I know that. But could you eat? If you wanted to?”

“Why would I want to?”

Dean chomps lustily into the burger. Muffles out, “Cause it’s fun.”

“Like alcoholic beverages?”

“Yep. Kinda. Well, less buzz. Unless it’s ice cream.”

Cas continues to ponder him like he’s the most interesting curiosity in the zoo. Dean sighs. Just as well. If Cas starts to eat then he assumes the food will have to eventually come back out and there’s no way he’s explaining that to the hapless angel. Took all he had just getting him to put on a pair of sweatpants to sleep in.

The waitress is a bouncy redhead with all the right curves. Temptation comes over him. He watches her wiggle her ass as she makes her way toward the counter. He looks up to see Cas watching her. Cas’s eyes seem sad.

Dean raises his eyebrows questioningly at Cas’s troubled look.

His companion nods toward the redhead. “Reminds me of Anna.”

“Were you … I mean do angels, you know … hook up?”

Cas smiles. “Not in the human conjugal sense.”

Dean takes another bite and follows it with a swig of soda.

“Anna enjoyed you,” Cas says.

Dean sputters, nearly choking on his drink. “What?”

“When you and she … that night in Kentucky. She told me she enjoyed it very much.”

Fighting back a blush Dean says, “I see.”

“She told me I should try it.”

Dean’s eyes open wide. “Sex?”

Cas hesitates a moment and locks his eyes on Dean. “No, you.”

Dean turns the color of the ketchup-mayonnaise mix dripping out of his burger. He squirms on the vinyl seat. He’s sensitive enough to know that it’s his turn to say something. But for once, Dean Winchester is speechless.

“Cas …” he starts unsure of what else to say.

“It’s fine, Dean. I understand. You prefer women.”

“Don’t you?”

“I think so. I just do not know if that is all I … It is alright, really. I did not mean to make you awkward. You are a beautiful man, Dean. You should know this. It is not a surprise that Michael has chosen you. My brother is also very beautiful. There are not many humans who could contain him. You are very special.”

 _A very special meat suit_. He understands that Cas means well, has complimented him. But Cas is blind when it comes to Dean. After Hell … beautiful is not a word he would use to describe himself. Not that it had ever been a word he’d use.

Dean pushes the remainder of the burger away. His appetite is gone. He likes Cas. Is the only friend he has left outside of Bobby. But he doesn’t like Cas like that. He can’t. It’s just not who Dean is. The last thing he wants is for Cas to decide they shouldn’t travel together any more. Maybe it’s chickenshit, but he doesn’t want to be alone. Because try as he might there aren’t a few minutes that go by when he’s not wondering if Lucifer is getting closer to Sam. And if no matter what Dean does he’s still gonna end up in that run down rose garden staring up at the Devil’s shoe.

“Dean? Are you bothered by what I told you?”

Dean hesitates a moment, then looks Cas straight in the eye and replies, “No. Are you?”

“I can … deal … if you can.”

Cas looks at him for confirmation he has this right. If Dean was capable of falling for a man this is the one he’d fall for. Admitting this to himself feels wrenchingly honest and seven kinds of good and Dean smiles at Cas.

They head back to the Impala. The sun is lower in the horizon now, bathing the small parking lot with a golden haze. Cas walks a few steps ahead of him, and for a moment the warm light creates the illusion of a halo around the angel’s head. Unexpected emotion overcomes Dean.

“Cas … I’ll never understand why you pulled me from … that infernal place. But it’s long past time I said thank you.”

Castiel seems surprised, touched. He moves in closer and places his hand on Dean’s arm, over his own handprint as he does whenever he wishes to express something of import. It tingles as always when Cas touches it. “Saving you … was a privilege.”

“’Cause God ordered it?”

Cas’s face is so close he can feel the warmth of the other’s man breath. The angel gives Dean an introspective little smile. “That is why I believed I did it at the time.”

Dean waits for more but Cas steps back and releases his arm. The skin beneath it is instantly cold. They cannot be lovers but they have a connection Dean values more than he’s let himself admit until now. And he’s grateful because it lets him function, offers comfort, dispels the paralyzing fear that he fights with every breath. Dean does not believe in God. But he believes in Castiel.

* * *

Sam squirms in the too-tight seat _there is never enough leg room_ and grimaces at the tenderness in his stomach. When Dean had finally gotten back in the piss-poor Ford, he’d taken Sam to the nearest hospital, not another word between them for the long ride. After some admonishments, the attendants re-stitched his wound. As they walked out of the ER, Dean apologized to him about the Baykok. There is nothing his brother doesn’t think is his own fault. Sam’d been so shocked at this ridiculous apology he’d just stared.

“We shouldn’ta been on that hunt,” Dean said. “And you got hurt.”

Sam had thought perhaps they had bigger game to track. But he hadn’t objected, certainly not aloud. Rufus needed them and they had to help their friend. To Dean he said, “Dude, you have nothing to apologize for. I went looking for the thing on my own. Got careless. Not your fault.”

If anything Sam feels guilty because he promised Dean he’d play that hunt by the book. And he’d failed. Again. So as usual Sam is the one who owes an apology and Dean is the one giving it and Sam doesn’t know what to say as he looks at his brother’s face, so he says nothing.

His brother leaves him the Ford. _Another mile in the thing and I’ll start hitching my pants up to my chest and wearing plaid caps and cranking up Lawrence freakin’ Welk on the radio._

The miles stretch on now long and meaningless. His only goal is to put distance between himself and Dean. It’s different, he thinks, from his singular, revenge-fueled existence after Dean died. His world was defined by red then. Anger. Hatred. Blood. Ruby, even she was red. Heat without warmth. Purpose without meaning. And then Dean stood in his doorway.

Should have made it better. Given him back himself. But it didn’t. Too late maybe. That cold empty place had swallowed him up and wasn’t letting go. There are no colors anymore, no tastes, few sounds. It is death, he thinks. True death. Because even though Dean died he never stopped being Dean. Sam, on the other hand, ceased to exist. Months of his life blur in a string of actions that Sam was present for but not really there. When had he last felt truly present?

Instantly his mind’s back in Palo Alto hearing a noise downstairs. The adrenaline flows through him as he battles in the dark until green eyes look down at him and a rush of feeling engulfs him so that his body feels supernaturally charged. On instinct, he flips the shorter man over, straddles his legs and says, “Dean?”

And for that split second every danger, every terror, every horror he’d run from returns … but Dean is _there_ and he swallows back the lump because Jesus, he’s missed his brother and asks him what he’s doing there.

They hunt the ghost their father’d been chasing and it’s back to all nerves, all energy, all the time. Dean and he go over the edge of a bridge and he loses sight of Dean. His heart freezes until a muddy figure crawls out from below grumbling he’s okay. Sam lets out something between a cry and a cackle and feels alive. Because, man, it’s heart-pounding good to hunt with his brother like this. They make a great team.

Sam pauses in this memory lane excursion. They _made_ a great team. All that’s long gone and buried and Dean said it best … what’s dead should stay dead. All he can do now is keep his brother as far away from Sam, from Lucifer, from all the evil sons of bitches that followed Sam his entire life.

A lingering cramp where his wound still throbs tells Sam it’s time to stop. Wearily, he pulls into a moderate chain motel. He made some cash playing pool the night before and thinks he’ll treat himself to a decent bed for a change. He settles quietly into the neat space. A single. There’s nothing to unpack but he removes his sleep clothes and places his toiletries in the bathroom. The toothpaste tube will retain its cap now that Dean’s not here to lose it and hairs will not materialize everywhere as if a dark golden cat secretly stowed in their bags to shed on every porcelain surface.

He pulls back the crisp sheets and slides in gratefully. The skeeve never seems to bother Dean. A lifetime of settling has made Dean want so little. He flashes to that old, haunted hotel in upstate New York, where the owner thought they were _antiquing_. That night Dean sinks into the huge, feathery soft, four poster bed like a child diving into a mound of cotton candy. His brother is four years older than Sam. But there are times when Sam thinks his brother is still four years old. They saved a little girl that job. Sam pulled her nearly drowned body out of the pool himself. In the minefield of memories, Sam allows himself this one.

He knows he’s indulging himself tonight. But in the morning it’ll be back to business. Driving to go nowhere. Living to say no. And for that Sam doesn’t need to be present. He needs just to be.

* * *

Gilded edges and baroque colors and … oh, this is new … harp music. Nobody can say Satan doesn’t have a wicked sense of humor. Sam looks around.

“Hello Nick.”

He can see Lucifer isn’t thrilled to be called by his failing vessel’s name but the annoyance is immediately covered up by a soft, non-toothy grin. Of course, here, Nick is radiant and full, looking more handsome and fit than he’s surely ever looked in life.

“Hello Sam.”

“Still, no,” Sam says with a smirk before turning to survey for what else is new. Still no door. He looks down at himself. He’s wearing what he wore to bed, a tee-shirt and ratty sweats.

Lucifer stares and Sam sees Lucifer is dressed in a pale, silvery gray suit this time. Still cheesy but better than the all white ---

Sam looks down. Oh for heaven’s sake … now Sam’s wearing Good Humor Man formal wear. Complete with hideous white old-man leisure shoes. Shoot him now.

“Are we going out somewhere?” he asks the Devil.

Lucifer grins. “I just enjoy nice things. And you look … very fine.”

Sam gets that cold prickle up his spine again. This is not a direction he wants this conversation to take. He much prefers the Devil angry, not salacious.

“Sorry about your pet,” he says trying to provoke.

“The Cerberus? You did him a favor. The old boy isn’t happy out top. He misses his play toys. Hates the cold.”

Sam can’t think of what to say to this. His life is overwhelmingly weird enough to fry most normal brains.

“Your brother made the right choice.”

Sam’s back on alert. “Leave Dean alone.”

“Sam, Sam … I have a soft spot for your brother. You know this. You do, too, and I understand this. He’s good, your brother, as is mine. Should Michael get his vessel he will be formidable. All that unyielding goodness. His way or no way. Right and wrong and strict rules that can never bend. Can never see that there might be more than one way to do something. That power can be wielded in many ways. That choice … choice is not evil.”

“You chose to use your power for evil,” Sam says.

“Ahh. So all are made to believe by my Father, my brothers. But everything is not as it seems. Did you choose to use your power for evil, Sam?”

Sam flinches but stares the Devil straight in the eye. “No. I … thought I could stop you.”

“Did Dean believe in you, Sam?”

Sam looks away, the other man’s eyes are so blue now they are almost blinding. His body shimmers in soft silvery waves, so beautiful. Words from ancient texts run though his mind. _The most beautiful angel in the Lord’s Kingdom._

“I don’t want to talk about Dean. He’s not your concern. This is about you and me.”

_I don’t know if I can trust you anymore. Dad said I’d have to kill you, Sammy._

“I’m glad you are starting to see us like this. We will make such an extraordinary pair.”

“No. That’s not what I …”

Lucifer approaches one small step closer and Sam does not like the predatory look in the other man’s eyes.

He tries again to divert what the Devil is radiating.

“There is no pair. You take me over and there’s just you,” he reminds.

“Is this what my brothers … what _your_ brother has told you? That’s not true, Sam. Not at all. It is true for Nick … this poor vessel’s body cannot contain me, let alone his weak mind. No, he’s pretty much gone, for the best, considering. But you Sam … you are _not_ weak. That’s Dean talking. Telling you can’t control the power, that it will change you. But you know better, don’t you? The power is not some foreign thing. It’s inside you, it’s who you _are_. No Sam. You and I will rule together. You will breathe and feel it all and the wonders I will show you will pour out of your eyes and nose and mouth and you will experience delights that no human can begin to even imagine.”

Sam is drawn by the Devil’s passion, his nature, his essence until Sam realizes he’s come closer on his own. They are standing a foot apart and Lucifer’s eyes are like a bright ocean beckoning for a swim on the hottest summer day. Lucifer smiles and the room is bathed in light and Sam feels the equivalent of a thousand fingers strumming across his body, stroking, rubbing … he’s aware of his arousal and he knows that its wrong but he can’t recall why this is so and he can’t bring his eyes off the face in front of him. It feels like salvation and it’s offering … _everything_.

“Sam … If it feels this good when I’m on the outside. Imagine me on the inside.”

Lucifer is right in front of him now, full lips just touching the bottom of Sam’s as he brushes them sideways across Sam’s face to blow gently in his ear and Sam gasps at the pleasure and starts to tremble because the figure huddled in the corner of his mind is screaming _wrong_ and he knows he starts to cry because he tastes salt and there are cold fingers traveling down his body, down his chest, lingering on his abdomen, drifting lower and the muscles contract at the feathery contact, despite his hysterical silent plea of _no no no_ …

Convulsing in pleasure and pain, tremors rack through him until he feels like he’ll break and shatter and nobody would know, nobody would ever see the pieces as they melt into the colors of the rug and disappear into Hell. He has to do something, make it stop, his body is his enemy, is saying _yes_ … God help him he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on. The huddled figure rises, begs _NO_ louder this time … he needs it to stop … it would be better to die … With one last push of reason he throws his head back hard, once, twice and his skull cracks with a jolt against the hard plaster until stars seem to float before his eyes and he whimpers, _Dean. Make him stop. Dean …_

Sam awakes in his room, tears tracking down his cheeks and he’s afraid to look to see if he soiled the bed because if he did then he doesn’t think he’ll have the strength to take another breath, but mercifully it’s clean. The sheets, his body, there’s nothing there … no sign at all of Lucifer.

On instinct he grabs his cell and his finger covers the “two” key and he depresses it a second before he remembers … _he can’t_ and snaps it shut. He has to protect Dean. Keep Hell away from his brother at all costs. He puts the phone back on the table and sobs out loud like he hasn’t done since he was a small child. Only then Dean was there, consoling, bucking him up with jokes and words and if all else failed with a squeeze so tight that no monster could ever get past it. He misses his big brother more than he thought possible. He fishes out the bottle he bought earlier just in case.

The rough whiskey washes down his throat and he takes greedy gulps until finally the edge of the nightmare recedes, and with a third of the bottle history he passes out.

**Chapter 10**

Dean senses Bobby wants to ask more questions about what happened with Sam, but at Dean’s closed face, the older man backs off. Castiel walks around the crowded room, picking up books and papers with a look of utter absorption.

Dean tracks his angel friend’s movements for a moment before asking Bobby for the latest on the Death research.

Bobby rolls into his kitchen and returns with two cold beers. “He gonna want one?” he asks Dean, pointing to Castiel.

Cas has his nose in one of Bobby’s older texts and as he slowly turns pages his finger gently trace over the etchings of God’s Warriors. “This is one of my former garrisons,” he says to no one in particular.

Dean peers over Cas’s shoulder. “Cool. You in that book, Cas?”

“No. I am a minor angel. This battle was fierce and I was there but only at the edges … not in the front line, as you would say.”

Dean thinks how old Castiel is. The millenniums he’s experienced, how he’s witnessed the rise and fall of entire civilizations and yet here he is … in Bobby’s musty old living room … wanting to help Dean. _Everything I did … I did it for you_. This is one of those mysteries Dean knows he will never unravel.

“Cas,” he says waiting until the angel is looking at him once more. “You’re not a minor angel. You’re the awesomest angel I know.”

Dean senses Bobby’s eyes upon him. Feels a bit self conscious at this naked show of sentiment. But Cas is looking at Dean in a way that helps fill the holes in his soul that he left back in the pit, and maintaining a tough guy image just doesn’t seem as important as it once did. His father comes to mind.

Dad kept it all bottled up tight. Proud ex-marine that valued loyalty, obedience, order. Dean has tried to be like his father. _His music. His car. His jacket_. But he knows now that his father wasn’t perfect. And the times that stand out aren’t when his father was stoic.

He is twelve the first time he remembers seeing his father cry. At least the first time when he wasn’t a tiny boy right after his mother was killed. Dad is away on a hunt. Dean stretches out their cash and provisions as long as he can but within a couple of days the money and food run out, which isn’t the biggest deal because he is able to steal most of what they need.

Then three days into the food shortage little Sammy catches a cold and then develops a fever and Dean gives him what they have of Children’s Tylenol but there isn’t much and soon it’s gone. Dean does what he can with cold compresses but _the fever isn’t breaking_ and stealing from the drug aisle is too dangerous and he’ll get caught and he doesn’t know what to do. He can take Sammy to a clinic or an emergency room but then they’ll ask questions about their parents and the single most terrifying thing in Dean’s life – scarier than every monster he’s ever seen or been told about, more petrifying even than the thing that took his mother – is Children Protection Services. He didn’t know how he’d live if they took Sammy from him.

On the seventh day their father finally walks through the door. Dean hasn’t eaten in two days and feels slightly nauseous but he’s managed to save a little soup for his brother and Sam has kept it down. The fever, however, is still there … hovering around 102.

Dad assesses the situation quickly asking briskly how long Sam has been this way and Dean explains about the Children’s Tylenol and that they’d run out and that he’s tried to keep Sammy cool as best as he could.

Their father pulls a regular bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and quickly splits the larger pill in half and has Sammy swallow it down even though his little brother never swallowed a pill like that before and gags twice before he can do it.

Then Dad turns on Dean. “Why didn’t you give him a half pill … we had a whole bottle?!”

Dean stares at the bottle in his father’s hand and feels the bile in his stomach rise at his own stupidity.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t think …”

“That the problem. You don’t think. It’s the same damn ingredients, just the kid’s version are smaller. You should know this. It’s common sense. I wouldn’t leave you boys without any first aid.”

Dean struggles to remain standing _at attention_ but the strain of worrying about Sammy and lack of food and overwhelming guilt at _how could he have not known this_ knocks his legs out from under him and he lands on a chair with a loud thud and mumbles, “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Sammy stirs in his bed then and struggles to sit up. Dean recognizes the fire in his little brother’s fevered eyes. “No. But Daddy, you left us without _food!_ ”

His father turns back to his youngest son, mouth open. “What …?”

“You were gone a long time and there wasn’t anything to eat.”

“I went shopping before I left, stocked the pantry.”

Dean shakes his head silently at this. Food for two days, not over a week. Part of Dean wants to yell at Sammy to shut up as this will hurt their dad. Dad didn’t know he’d be gone so long, it wasn’t his fault.

“We were hungry! If Dean hadn’t stolen from the grocery store…”

Sammy has stopped yelling. Even at his young age he knows he’s said too much.

Dean shifts backward slightly in his seat certain he’s in big trouble after what Sammy let out. He hangs his head down in shame ready to apologize.

Dad rises from Sam’s bed and collapses in the chair across from Dean. “I’m sorry, sir,” he says softly to his father.

His father looks at Dean as if he is seeing him for the first time and Dean is shocked that his father isn’t angry at him. He stares wide-eyed at the tears tracking down his dad’s face. His father’s voice hitches, “I’m so sorry. You boys deserve so much better. I drag you everywhere … put you in constant danger … _starve you_.” His voice rises scarily on the last words. Dad halts, fists the tears from his eyes. “I should call the county right now and have them send someone to take you boys to safety. Away from me.”

Dean panics at this as if someone put a gun to his temple. From across the room he hears Sammy cry out, “No.”

Eighteen years later, Dean shakes the cobwebs free, fighting to forget his brother’s cry from that long ago night. He misses that boy so much it feels like a body part’s been surgically removed. Cas touches him gently because even though the angel can’t read minds he can read Dean.

“I would like that beer,” Cas says, looking toward Bobby over Dean’s shoulder.

* * *

Bobby has shared all the research he’s done the past several weeks. He pulls out a large map of the country and lays it across a table. He’s drawn the beginning of a five-pointed star in red. The star is incomplete with three points left to be finished. The cities are mostly in the Midwest – Sioux City, Iowa; Polk, Wisconsin; Damiansville, Illinois. Some are large, some are tiny. Dean struggles to make sense of it. The attack sites seem random. Cas is staring intently.

“What?” Dean asks his friend.

“The center, Dean.”

Bobby and Dean trace the points inward until they zone in on one state – Michigan.

“Oh shit,” Dean breathes.

Bobby looks at him oddly. “Whatcha find boy?”

The center of Death’s pentagram is Detroit. _I win. So, I win_. NO. _You’re wrong._ Sam’s fevered confession stabs Dean. What if Lucifer is still molesting Sam in his dreams? And Sam’s alone, helpless. _It was Sam’s choice._ Again. Still. Always.

Bobby prods him again.

“I haven’t told you this,” Dean struggles. “Hard to talk about.”

Bobby waits.

“Zachariah sent me on this trip. It was the same night Sam … Lucifer found Sam, told him he was his vessel. The dickwad sent me five years into the future. Remember that demon virus Sam and I came across in Oregon a few years ago? Croatoan. Well, it’s everywhere in the future. Turning people into wild, vicious animals. Whole cities with nobody human left in ‘em.” Pause. “There’s a group of resistance fighters. I’m -- one of them … only I’m a real SOB … Didn’t give a damn about using my … friends as bait without even telling ‘em.”

“Was I there?” Bobby asks quietly.

Dean looks away. The older hunter nods and doesn’t ask for more.

“Future me has a final smackdown with Lucifer behind this old factory, in this overgrown garden. S-Lucifer … kills me … _future_ me. Breaks my neck, steps on me like a bug.”

“And this is in Michigan?”

“No. We … were in Missouri. Kansas City.”

“Then …?” Cas’s hand is on Dean’s shoulder again and Bobby is staring intently at the interplay between angel and mortal. “Dean. What aren’t you telling me?”

Dean looks away. Can’t find the words. This is why he’s never told anyone what his future self said happened in Detroit … what will happen … _might happen_ … Because seeing the Devil shining out of his brother’s eyes …

Cas answers for him. “Sam said yes in that future. That possible future. The Dean of that time said it happened in Detroit. We do not know for certain it will happen like that. Despite what Lucifer says … he _does_ lie.”

Bobby runs his hand through his beard and shuts his eyes a moment. “Does Sam know?”

Dean faces his friend. “I told Sam about the trip. The virus. I told him that I learned we need to work together—“ Dean stops and turns away from Bobby and Castiel.

Bobby looks at the angel for a long moment and then wheels closer to Dean who is staring at the cluttered fireplace mantel.

“We gonna talk about this?”

“What?” Dean says.

“What happened with you and Sam?”

“I already told you. He said he wanted to hunt alone. Sam’s a big boy. His choice, nuthin’ to be done.”

“But knowin’ what you know. Shouldn’t we keep him close?”

Dean doesn’t mean to yell at Bobby. “How?! Am I supposed to lock him in your panic room again? Keep him like a freakin’ Chia pet? I tried. I apologized. I bit my tongue a million different times. I don’t know what to do anymore. You said it yourself, Sam hasn’t been Sam since …”

“Since you went to Hell?”

Dean’s eyes darken. “Don’t you dare pin my brother’s issues on me! I went to Hell to save his life. I thought … I hoped he’d make something of it. A second chance at a normal life. Be happy.”

Bobby stares straight into Dean’s hurting eyes. “You Winchesters are all so ready to sacrifice yourselves that you don’t stop and see what you’re actually sacrificing.”

Dean moves away from the man he thinks of as a father because he can’t talk about this any longer. Sam made his choice.

He runs a hand over his face and through his hair and turns around to face the men watching him with worry. He puts his best Dean Winchester smirk on his face “So where do we think this Death babe is heading next? Cause I’m thinking I wanna get a piece of that action.”

* * *

Sam stares at the map again and knows he’s sweating even though it’s cold but it’s hard to think when the center of what he’s drawn on the map is fucking Detroit. _You’re going to say yes in six months. And you’re going to say it in … Detroit._

He’s running out of time and his instinct as always is to reach out to Dean but bottom line he can’t because Lucifer wants Sam’s ass and he has to keep Dean as far away as possible. He knows Bobby’s been tracking Death and Sam’s pretty sure his brother is with him in South Dakota.

Sam isn’t sure if Dean heard Lucifer in Carthage. When Lucifer threw Dean against that tree he’d been knocked out cold. And Dean’d never mentioned hearing the conversation between Sam and Lucifer. Maybe he’s been waiting for Sam to say something? Doesn’t matter. Sam’s mission is the same now as it’s been since the Devil first appeared in his bed. And Sam sees that thought in a new and very revolting light.

Thank goodness that Dean is unaware of Lucifer’s depraved desire toward Sam. Dean can’t ever know this. How screwed up are their lives? Dean has an angel of the Lord jonesing for him and Sam has Satan, himself. If that doesn’t just about tell you everything you need to know about the Winchester brothers, nothing does.

He studies the map some more. Death can go in one of two directions to continue the star shape. South toward Ohio or north toward North Dakota. Sam figures Dean and Bobby will check out North Dakota, given their proximity. He packs his duffel — never really unpacked-- and stows it in the trunk of his newest vehicle – he upgraded to a Volvo this time – and starts driving toward Ohio.

* * *

“You sure on this, Bobby?” Dean asks from the passenger seat of Bobby’s truck. Dean knows how normal it makes Bobby feel to be able to drive his refitted truck.

“Ramsey County, North Dakota. Home of Devil’s Lake. Got the perfect name, given Lucifer’s sense of irony. That’s where Death’s going.”

Dean continues to be unsure about this plan but he also thinks he has nothing left to lose. This is riskier than anything they would have even imagined trying in the past. How do you fight Death? Bobby has this idea that they can use a ritual he’s unearthed to protect the town. Cas hasn’t exactly weighed in on this but he hasn’t said no either. He’s just sitting quietly in the back seat, stoic, staring straight ahead. Not that Dean’s complaining but he’s been wondering about Cas’s sudden interest in car travel versus his usual transportation.

He worries that his friend is losing more of his angel mojo, making him more vulnerable by the day. It’s impossible not to think of the future Cas he met – all strung out and … empty. Dean doesn’t want this for his friend. If Castiel becomes human one day he wants him to have a meaningful life. _Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen as long as he’s hanging around with you, Winchester._ A normal person would be driving as far away from where they thought Death might be, not to mention the Devil. But, no, he thinks it’s a good idea to head right at it.

They pull slowly into town and Dean is surprised at how ordinary it all looks. People strolling around a small historic commercial center with quaint mom and pop shops with names like Ray’s Bakery and Garrell’s Sports. Cas says he sees nothing unusual … no reapers or demons or even other renegade angels. They pull into a parking space and put money into a meter, which Dean’s never remembered doing his entire life. He helps Bobby into his chair before wondering if the bakery has good pie.

“Seems quiet enough,” Bobby volunteers.

“Think you got it wrong?”

Bobby scrunches his face a bit. “Think we’re early,” he replies.

Dean nods fighting back the tension and suddenly his legs cramp from all the sitting in the uncomfortable truck _not his baby_ and he tells Bobby to start setting up, that he’s going to walk a bit further and look around. Dean looks at Cas and silently orders him to stay with Bobby and Cas nods understanding.

Dean walks far enough that the wholesome middle-America milieu turns into liquor stores with burglar bars and run-down houses with boarded up windows and overgrown yards. He hears a noise from down a side street and heads to check it out. Might have been a kid or a car or a … dog.

It comes fast and furious and _invisible_. Dean takes off running so fast his lungs are on fire. He can’t yell because that takes air and his companions are too far away and _he is fucked_ he knows the Hell Hounds are closing in with rabid intensity because they’re here for one thing, have one purpose … he’s going to be torn to shreds and dragged back to Hell.

Dean seeks shelter, yanks on doorways but everything is locked, there are no stores here only homes, and while before people milled about now there’s no one. The beast’s roar deafens and he smells its rancid breath. _Oh God. No No NO!_

A jagged claw cleaves his leg like a hook through a slab of meat and a soundless scream leaves his lips. He crabs backward, but his leg is hamburger and he almost passes out from the pain and rolls instinctively up in a ball and _suddenly he’s back in the possessed child’s horror house and Sam’s pinned to the wall crying and shouting_ no, stop _and Lilith is laughing with white eyes and in excruciating horror Dean looks down prepared to see his heart shred to chunks before his eyes._

_“NO!”_

A blur pulls back hard at the beast but its teeth have sunk into his thigh and when its head yanks back with a slushy tear it takes tissue and muscle and tendons with it, spraying up a bloody spurt so that Dean’s world goes red before it goes black. He comes to grunting, swipes at the blood, feels a second’s relief that the thing is gone, isn’t biting him, slashing him. Then he sees Cas wrestling the beast in a mad tangle of fur and claws and trench coat. Adrenaline surges and Dean tries to rise, to fight, save his friend, but movement sends sparks of agony to every nerve ending and the pain of every lash returns as one. Another hound lunges ignited by the raw meat of his leg and he screams till his throat closes and the dark mist lets him escape.

The report of the Colt blast rips the air around Dean and then another and a third and he comes to as a weight crushes him. There’s no breath left in his lungs and he struggles against the invisible mass, tries to move but his leg is in utter agony. He calls for Bobby but only a whimper comes out.

Castiel is there, strips of his coat fluttering madly behind him like streamers. He lifts him out from under the dead Hell Hound and as the angel pulls him further away he hears feminine laughter and he thinks Lilith … she’s back … she’s here … she’s going to kill Sammy … he has to stop her but the Hell Hounds are coming and _it hurts it hurts_ _… Sam … SAM!_

“Dean … Sam is fine. He’s not here. The Hell Hounds are dead but we must get you out of here. Now.”

There’s a ripping sound and Cas is tying something around his thigh and squeezes and the pain is so bad he sees black then he sucks in air faster than his lungs can handle and he’s panting like the Hell Hounds before they feast on his guts.

Bobby rolls up close and murmurs _Shit_ … and says, “Put him up here. I’ll hold ‘im. Then you zap us all outta here to an emergency room.”

“I cannot. I need time for my body to mend itself. We will have to drive him to a hospital.”

Cas lifts Dean and he’s half-cradled in Bobby’s lap and he’s five and staring up the bushiest beard he’s ever seen outside of Santa Claus and Dean wonders if this is Santa, you know, when he’s off duty. But the whiskers are dark and not white so he’s not sure and then he’s tearing around the junk cars and Uncle Bobby ruffles his hair and tells him he doesn’t have to call him sir, but Dean doesn’t know how to call him anything else and it takes a very long time until he first calls him “Uncle” and Uncle Bobby seems very pleased when Dean says it.

Dean fades in and out of consciousness and catches snippets of conversation around him. _Lucifer means business. The pattern means nothing. Just a trap for Dean. The contract is binding, it is forever. Yeah, well, forever ain’t what it used to be._

He raises his head slightly, he’s in the back of the truck, his head resting on Cas’s lap. This should make him feel uncomfortable but Cas is gently stroking his forehead and Dean accepts the warm touch and thinks _thank you_ … wants to say it but before the words can come he retreats from the unbearable pain back into unconsciousness.

“Sammy! Sam …”

“Dean. Your brother is not here. He is fine. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Lilith didn’t kill him? He … He’s okay?”

“Lilith didn’t hurt your brother, Dean. He is fine.”

“How’s he doin’ back there? Lost a lotta blood.”

“He keeps drifting … will we be there soon?”

Bobby’s voice is gruff. “Nuther few minutes. Shame you don’t have your zapping powers any longer.”

Cas stiffens, draws Dean minutely closer. Dean wants to tell him it’s okay, not to worry, but his head is underwater and he’s afraid if he speaks, he’ll drown.

Dean is on a gurney and it’s familiar and wrong and there’s a tearing sound as his jeans are cut and someone moves him and it pierces from his groin to his thigh to his knee and he utters a guttural moan and squeezes a soft hand and shuts his eyes against the stinging tears. Someone adjusts his arm and he feels a prick and then numbness travels over his body and he sleeps.

Dean awakens and there’s a momentary disorientation, then he pretty quickly realizes where he is. He looks down and peers under the blankets. His leg is still there _thank God_ and it’s bandaged from the top of his thigh to below his knee. He tries to move it a little but he gives an involuntary gasp at the attempt and he thinks he isn’t going anywhere for a while.

He shakes a little, thinking how close those barbarous claws came to the family jewels and how despite everything maybe luck is on his side for a change. Then the doctor walks in and Bobby rolls in right behind her.

She’s a small Asian woman with a pretty, thin face and sharp, bright eyes and Dean instantly feels like he’s in good hands. She’s talking but he’s imagining the incredible grades this woman achieved all through her academic life and how proud her parents must have felt when she graduated medical school. He would have been proud to see Sam accept his Law degree and he never told his brother that, only made it seem like it was a waste of time. And it was, of course, a waste, given their line of work, their lives. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been proud of Sammy all the same and maybe he should have said something when it would have mattered.

The outside world intrudes on his thoughts when the doctor inquires about his next of kin.

Bobby answers, “He has a brother. But he’s not here.”

Dean looks at them both thinking, _I’m right here, aren’t I?_ This isn’t like the last time when he was walking around and his body was in a coma, but then the doctor looks right at him and smiles warmly so he know he’s not invisible.

The physician turns her attention back to Bobby. “You might want to contact his brother, he would want to be here, I’d think.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rise slightly and he looks up at the petite doctor.

She looks away and touches Dean’s arm and asks, “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

Dean thinks, isn’t sure. Has he been out a while?

The doctor begins to explain. Her voice is soft, deliberate. Seems like he’s lost a day. Not surprising given what happened. She touches his arm again and looks him straight in the eyes. “Mr. Page. The dog that attacked you was exceptionally vicious. We have done all we can to save your leg but the injuries are too severe …”

Dean’s eyes widen and he interrupts, grabbing her arm. “You’re saying I’m going to lose my leg?”

**Chapter 11**

Dean stares blankly long after the soft-spoken doctor leaves. Bobby hasn’t left and hasn’t said anything and they let the silence drift on.

Finally, Bobby says, “I should call Sam.”

At this Dean turns toward Bobby with eyes deader than the older man ever recalls seeing. Emptier than when Dean was actually dead.

“No.”

“Dean …”

“No.”

There is no anger in Dean’s voice. There is simply nothing. Bobby fights getting angry, knows that this last bit of news is just the icing on a cake of crap so deep you could fertilize all of Iowa with it. This boy’s been through so much. Was raised like a soldier to fight monsters that real soldiers would run away from screaming like little girls. And now that sawbones is talkin’ about cutting off his leg and it just ain’t right.

“I won’t stand a chance,” Dean utters. Bobby isn’t sure Dean realizes he’s speaking aloud.

He answers anyway. “These days they have these prosthetics that folks run marathons with. After a bit you won’t hardly notice any difference.”

Dean turns those vacant eyes his way again. “Takes months of therapy to even begin … Don’t have months. Probably don’t even have weeks. Lucifer wants me back, Bobby. And back is where I’m going.”

“I’m not lettin’ them take you back, boy. I promise you this. Not gonna happen.”

Bobby turns away because looking at the boy is just killing him. He tells Dean he’s going to search out some caffeine and wheels himself out. He’s got his phone out and dialing before he can talk himself out of it.

Answering machine.

“Sam. It’s Bobby. Call me. It’s about Dean.”

* * *

Sam rolls into Ohio at night and starts scanning for a cheap place to stay. The pool money is pretty much gone and not for the first time he marvels at his brother’s ability to just always seem to have cash. Not a lot, not by a long shot. They’d gone hungry as kids more times than he can count, but in the end … by hook or by crook … Dean finds a way to make it work. Not always legitimate, but ... He stops himself from thinking about this much more. He is tired or he wouldn’t have even begun this train of thought.

He’s been driving eight hours straight down Route 70 and he feels like a pretzel from contorting his legs in the compact car. Why doesn’t he ever think to steal a boat like the Impala? But the answer to that is obvious even to his sleep-deprived mind so he ignores both the question and its answer.

He looks over at his traveling buddy. Reliable fellow that comes out only at night and never says a thing. Jack is a steadfast roommate these days. Neat, quiet and unpicky enough to not mind sleeping wherever he’s dropped … on the floor most nights.

Sam finds that he doesn’t dream when he drinks till he’s out. At least he hasn’t had one of _those_ dreams. Maybe intoxicated brains waves are too scrambled for Lucifer to pick out of the ether. Fine. Better than fine … perfect. The last dream still haunts. He knows he says yes in the dream. Perhaps not yes to the ultimate question but it’s a yes nonetheless and it’s too damn close for comfort.

He stops at a light and closes his eyes a moment, so dry from staring straight ahead all day. God, if his brother knew how depraved he’s become … that he’s gotten hard over the Devil … Dean can never know. And even if it means pickling his already diced liver, Sam’s never going to give in to the Devil like that again.

A nondescript motel outside of Springfield with a flashing vacancy sign is as good a place as any to pass out. He takes a quick shower before climbing into the too-short bed and flipping channels for a few minutes. He’s tired enough to fall asleep without any aid but he’s afraid that Lucifer will find him so he swills down some whiskey, turns off the T.V. and tries to settle into some semblance of comfortable on the lumpy mattress.

There’s a crackle of static and Sam shoots up, knife in hand, as the television turns itself back on. He checks around but he’s still in the same room and he’s alone. The whiskey is on the table where he left it and nothing seems wrong until the television begins changing channels by itself and a symphony of infomercials and late night talk shows and old movies fills the small space.

“Hi Sammy. Oh my … you _are_ yummy, aren’t you?”

Sam stares at the screen in a mixture of shock and awe. A gorgeous woman is staring back at him. Long, straight movie-star hair. Enormous eyes the color of the clearest summer sky. A shimmery white dress clings to her curves as she approaches _the camera?_ and stands closer now as if literally peering out at Sam from behind the T.V. screen.

“The boss said I’d want to eat you up. Ohh, but he didn’t tell me I should bring a cherry.”

The words are playful but her tone gives off hunger deep enough to devour.

“What?” is all that Sam can squeak out.

She’s looking him up and down, licking her lips like he’s a lollipop and he wants to look at himself to verify he’s still dressed. He feels the fabric of the tee-shirt, the boxers he has on. He doesn’t know what he’s seeing, isn’t sure this isn’t Lucifer in a new meatsuit ... Then he remembers what Dean said. Death is a blonde in a white dress. But she can’t kill him, Lucifer needs his vessel … so what does she want?

She answers even though he doesn’t ask. “I’m not here, Sammy. Took my boss’s pets for a walk in North Dakota. Poor puppies were so hungry. They haven’t eaten in a while but I promised them a very tasty treat.”

Sam’s heart stops. _Dean_. She sent Hell Hounds after …

“What did you do?”

She looks off camera and smiles. Behind her he sees an empty street of ramshackle buildings. She tilts her head back to him. “They’re here,” she squeals like a child, bringing her hands up in clear delight. As if watching the most horrifying home movie ever conceived, Sam sees Dean run up the dead street with jerky frantic steps. Although Sam can’t see anything, can’t hear anything, he knows what is after his brother, what they will do.

“I can’t stay any longer, don’t want to miss the show. But Sammy … once you accept the master … you and I are going to have such _fun_.” She laughs then, deep and hearty and blows him a kiss and the television flickers once and returns to an infomercial for acne aid.

Brain shrieking _No no no_ , Sam reaches for his cell, starts to dial, sees no signal. Goddammit. There should be reception. He grabs the motel’s phone but the line is dead. In a perfect _fuck you_ the television sputters and the entire room goes dark. He looks through the window. No lights for as far as he can see. It would be like Lucifer to black out the entire Midwest corridor.

He has no way to save Dean. Sam sinks onto the bed in despair. He thought staying away would keep his brother safe. But he’s underestimated how much Lucifer fears Dean. How much Lucifer wants his brother out of the way. Does Lucifer think that Dean is the only reason Sam keeps saying no?

 _I’ll find a way, Dean. I won’t let you go to Hell. I promise …_ It’s a thousand miles to North Dakota. Even if he starts driving immediately, he won’t make any difference.He’s too late. Again. _Lilith fires her white flash at him and it does nothing, not even a tingle as he drops from the wall and approaches her, knife drawn, wanting to cut out her laughing tongue but she smokes away and all that’s left is Dean’s shredded torso and frozen green eyes, begging for help that never comes._

* * *

Dean is X-rayed and poked and prodded and different doctors come by each saying a flurry of words that Dean doesn’t hear. A nurse comes in and changes the dressing on his leg. He almost pukes when he sees it, oozy and festering and smelling from hip to knee and she draws a big red ‘X’ on his right shin because there’s nothing to mark on above there.

The surgeon visits last and has him sign forms and explains the risks and speaks reassuringly about prognosis and therapy and state-of-the-art prosthetics. Dean knows the doctor is trying to help him and thinks he should say something, _thank him_ , but he doesn’t have it in him. Talking is too much trouble. Better to be quiet. Sam has it right. Dean always talks too much and all it’s gotten him is a one-legged ticket on the Hades Express.

The surgery is scheduled for early the next morning and as Dean lies in the bed he has a single wish. If only Tessa would show up and take him away … No, forget that, the only place he can be taken is Hell. And somehow he thinks Tessa doesn’t want to take him there. A funny thought in and of itself, because it’s not like reapers really care a fuck where the dead end up except … she was different.

He hears his father say _buck up_ as he’s injured on their first hunts together and struggles to never let any pain show. Sammy silently patches him up, eyes concerned for him and angry at Dad and Dean would stare at this in absolute amazement because Sam’s standing up to Dad on his behalf and Dean admires his little brother’s strength. Dean can never be that brave.

There are male voices outside his room, and for a moment Dean thinks Bobby has called Sam and Sam came back and he doesn’t want to feel _thank God_ but it’s there anyway. But Bobby wheels in alone and Dean turns his head away from the door and thinks, for the best, doesn’t want Sam to see him this way.

“How you doin’ kiddo?

Dean knows he has to look at Bobby. Has to reassure him.

“Been worse. Chicks dig pirates. Might go with a peg leg.”

Bobby snorts. “I can get ya an eye patch to go with.”

Dean tries to smile. Can’t. But continues the conversation anyway. “Now you’re talkin’.”

There’s more noise outside. This time Dean looks alarmed and Bobby quickly goes to investigate.

“I am a family friend.” _Castiel_.

Dean hasn’t seen Castiel since shortly after arriving at the hospital. Bobby says he just vanished that way he does. Dean is taken by surprise at the comfort he feels hearing that gravelly voice.

“Let him in. Please,” he says as loudly as he can.

The nurse lets Cas enter and Bobby says, “I’m gonna see about some food. Be back soon.”

Cas looks at Bobby briefly and says, “I’m sorry.”

Bobby looks at him oddly and asks, “For what?” But Cas doesn’t reply, his attention back on Dean and neither notices Bobby leave.

Cas slides a chair over and sits, eyes unwavering as always.

“Angel business?” Dean inquires by way of _where have you been?_

“I needed a favor.”

Dean breathes in and struggles to find the words to tell his friend what is going to happen in the morning.

“Injury is bad. Docs can’t save the leg. Comin’ off tomorrow.”

Cas leans in a bit closer with his laser stare. “No. It’s not.”

“Cas … I know you lost the healing mojo …”

Cas rises and walks toward the end of the bed and pulls back the blanket over Dean’s ravaged leg. He stares at the big red “X” and shuts his eyes and Dean sees a wave of what can only be described as pain pass over the angel’s face.

“I can’t make it perfect. It will likely always give you pain … but … “

Cas places his hands gently on either side of Dean’s ravaged thigh and a luminous glow starts to emanate from the angel. Whiteness surrounds them in a mist of blinding glory. It fills Dean, penetrating into his very being and Cas’s soultouches him, holds him, cradles him … Dean shuts his eyes, stunned by the intensity. _So beautiful. Loving_. _I didn’t know, couldn’t have imagined_.

The air hums and Cas starts to shake, moves back and the abrupt separation feels like a gut punch and Dean can’t breathe from the loss.

The angel staggers back to the chair and collapses. Cas is pasty and sweating and looks like he too has lost something vital. Consumed with worry over seeing Cas in this condition it takes several moments for Dean to becomes aware of an odd tingle in his leg, like pins and needles except it’s making the leg hot. Dean wriggles his toes, turns his foot, then shifts his whole leg and the pain that he’s been feeling even with the narcotic drip in his I.V. has diminished to the level of an unremarkable throb just like all the other injuries that have been patched up by his dad, his brother, and assorted ERs. He flexes and feels his muscles move again and his leg … his leg works. _He’ll walk again._

“Cas …” But there aren’t words for something like this. Dean’s afraid to hear the price Cas paid for this.

“Dean. Is it better?”

“Yes. God, yes. Cas … how’d you do it? What favor?”

“I borrowed a little ‘juice’. I couldn’t heal you … but I did the best I could.”

The angel is as white as a sheet. He looks as human as if he were Jimmy. Suddenly, it all clicks. The angel mojo … whatever Cas had left … Cas doesn’t just _look_ human. And Dean is afraid for him.

“Cas, what did you do?”

“Helped my friend.”

“You’re the craziest angel Heaven’s ever produced, you know this, right?”

Cas smiles wanly at this. “It is the company I have been keeping.”

Another joke. And as he wipes a stray tear, Dean thinks, one of these times, he might be able to laugh at one of them.

* * *

The doctors are baffled and the poor imaging technicians take most of the blame as clearly the damage is not as extensive as first diagnosed, and the Asian doctor smiles at Dean so widely as she changes her prognosis that Dean thinks her face must hurt.

Bobby is happy for Dean but doesn’t look at Cas and Dean can’t do anything about it.

The three of them begin to talk strategy right there in the hospital room because Lucifer means business and while this last time they stupidly waltzed right into the Devil’s trap, Dean hasn’t forgotten the romance novel demon is still out there.

Bobby gives Dean an odd look at this until Dean explains what Sam said, and both men share a weary smile and Cas looks from one to the other puzzled.

In the morning Dean checks himself out despite the doctor’s objections. He asks Cas how much more healing he can expect. Cas doesn’t know but seems very pleased by how far Dean’s come in a day.

In the truck, Dean says casually to Bobby. “So, you never called Sam.”

Bobby avoids looking at him and Dean’s suspicions are confirmed.

“Bobby?”

“They were goin’ to amputate your damn leg, Dean. I had to call him.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’d he say?” _Where was he?_

“I never spoke to him. Left a message. He still hasn’t … called back.”

Dean says nothing and the silence bounces around the truck, pinging back and forth between them and never once landing.

In Bobby’s house Dean is given the couch so he doesn’t have to climb the stairs. Cas is offered a pillow and blanket and he stretches out on the floor not too far from Dean, and Bobby can’t get the thought _guardian angel_ out of his head.

Dean takes two painkillers, strong ones, and falls asleep quickly.

Familiar red flashes. Steaks of silver binding him and pain burning in his chest where the Hell beasts have feasted repeatedly on his organs and he screams with no sound as Alastair approaches with his lash and runs it seductively up Dean’s body and says _where shall we begin today? Eh, boy?_

Dean screams _no no no_ and wants to die, to really die, and begs for the pain to stop and then Alastair stops and says _I’ll give you this lash and all you have to do is use it on other souls. It’s so easy. And it feels so good. And the pain will stop, Dean, it will all stop._

But he says no. And he is healed. Again. The hounds are on him slavering as they chew his insides and he screams and screams and screams. Alastair says, _You can stop it, Dean. No more pain. Take the lash. Strike me. I’ll let you. Once. You want to, don’t you?_

 _No no no …_ and the agony starts anew and the red flashes attack him as the acid in the air eats into every pore and the creatures munch down hard because this is a tasty treat and his insides are fed to him and he drowns in the red, gags on it, can’t see and it hurts it hurts … and there’s no one to help him, no one to hear him _… Dad … Sam …_

He tries to remember who he is but there’s nothing but pain and agony and _all for nothing_ and forever passes and Alastair whispers again and again and again if he only hurts the demon it will be all right and with a blast of red flame he’s down … lash in hand and he strikes Alastair once and the pain eases instantly … and Alastair says _now him_ and he slices blindly at the body before him … it’s better than no pain, it’s pleasure … it’s exquisite … an orgasm and he’s drifting in a sea of ecstasy as the soul before him squirms and moans and erupts in red spray and he thinks he’s giving the same pleasure he’s just felt … _Isn’t it lovely? … Doesn’t it feel_ so _good?_ And he does it again and again and again …

There’s a new soul and he seems familiar but not really because he doesn’t know anything other than the pleasure of wielding the lash and the knife and the chains … and the new soul is crying and begging and Dean says … _let it happen … it’ll feel so good_ … he calls the puppies over and they start gnawing on this thing’s groin and he takes the pieces and brings them up to the man’s face and says … _see … so delicious … I told you … one taste and you’ll see_ and the other man’s eyes are hazel and they accuse him. You’re a monster, a thing … You shoved me … _pushed your brother into Hell._

Something’s wrong … can’t be because he didn’t … he couldn’t … he says no _screams no_ but it’s _yes yes_ … and it’s Sammy covered in red streaks and his insides are on the outside because Dean’s been pulling out his brother’s entrails and Sam’s screams ricochet through the pit.

And suddenly Dean’s back on the rack, hooks piercing his shoulder, sulfur choking him and fire burning him and Sam is there with a dagger, slicing back and forward across Dean’s chest, belly, legs … and the pain stops his breathing and Sam brings the knife to Dean’s chest and Lucifer’s laugh comes out of his brother’s face as he pulls Dean’s heart out with both hands … _You don't know me. You never did. And you never will._

_Sam … no … SAM!_

“Dean, Dean, please wake up. You are dreaming again. You’re not in Hell. And Sam is fine. Dean …”

He’s gasping, can’t breathe … He tries to stand, but his leg can’t handle the weight and he’s down on his ass and Cas has his arms around him, steadying him.

Reality starts to return. A dream. Only a dream. He didn’t send Sam to Hell. He didn’t.

Cas looks at him a long moment. Walks away and returns with a glass of water and something else enclosed tightly in his hand.

Dean swallows the water with difficulty and sets the glass down. His breathing has slowed, he’s beginning to feel more … normal. He looks up at Cas. Tries to say thank you but Cas is holding out something toward him.

“Here, Dean. Thank you for lending me this but it … won’t work for me any longer and you need it back.”

Dean stares as Cas returns his amulet. He slides the familiar black cord over his head and a rightness comes over him, like he’s complete again. He stares at Cas, doesn’t need to say anything, the angel knows.

Then Cas tilts his head, eyes puzzled and Dean blinks and suddenly there’s nothing beneath him, he’s not in Bobby’s living room, he’s not indoors and just before he’s about to stumble onto hard ground he sees an oddly familiar billboard of a snow-capped mountain looming ahead of him.

**Crater Lake, Oregon.**

**Chapter 12**

_What the …?_ Dean hits the ground butt-first and he lets out a yelp from the sudden sharp pain in his leg. A hand is there.

“What the …? Dean! Are you okay?!”

_Sam._

Dean shakes his head and hangs on to his brother’s arm, pulling himself up as he tests his leg slowly, willing it to not buckle as he stands.

“I don’t remember getting hammered,” Dean mumbles, because really, _what the fuck?_

Internal and external observation colliding, Dean smells whiskey on Sam’s breath and sees his brother looking like shit warmed over. Greasy hair, hanging in stringy lines over his eyes. Funky smell, not just the booze, and looks like he’s been wearing his clothes long enough for them to start walking on their own. Sam is staring at him like … like when Dean first walked into the motel room back from Hell … like Sam’s at war with his own eyes.

“What happened?” Sam asks stunned.

Dean looks around “Well, for one, we’re not in Kansas any more, Sammy.”

Sam notices the Crater Lake sign. Stares at it like it can’t really be there. Dean gets the moment his brother’s bloodshot eyes acknowledge where they are. “I … I was driving. Then I was standing here and you were on the ground.”

“Hope the road was empty ‘cause that must have been one heckuva crash.”

“Crater Lake?” Sam is still looking at the sign, wrinkling his forehead. “Why are we in Oregon?”

A beat. Then, “The virus,” they both say at the same time.

 _Savage, animal eyes in no-longer-human faces chase him as he runs for his life_. Is it starting already? He’d thought they’d have more time. Dean looks around at the quiet. _God, no_.

Since Dean is on his feet Sam lets go of his arm, but Dean immediately loses his balance as he puts weight on his not-ready-for-prime-time leg. Sam automatically braces his arm around Dean’s back to steady him. They start to walk down the road into town.

“Whoa,” Sam says after Dean stumbles again. “What’s wrong? You hurt your leg?”

Dean hesitates. “Little accident. ’S nothing.”

Bitchface. “Bull. Hell Hounds came after you in North Dakota. It was a trap.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to stare. “How’d you know that? Bobby said you never bothered to call back.”

Sam is instantly defensive. “I couldn’t call back. Lucifer killed the signal. Blacked out the entire Midwest. That’s why I was driving.”

“You were coming …?”

“Of course.” Sam says as if what else would he do? Sam runs his hand through his hair and squeezes Dean’s arm a little tighter. “How bad is it? Your leg?”

If he puts any weight on it he’s gonna fall flat on his face. “I think I need to find a place to sit,” Dean admits. _Sam was driving to North Dakota?_ Dean can’t reconcile that idea with the Sam that walked out on him nearly two weeks ago.

A fallen tree is not far from where they stand. Sam carefully arranges himself to support Dean as they make their way to it.

Dean can’t help the hiss as he eases down. At his brother’s shiver, Sam removes his outer jacket and silently gives it to Dean. Dean hesitates a moment but then slips it on. It’s huge and he knows he should feel ridiculous floating around in it, but … he doesn’t. Sam’s concern feels oddly out of place, like Dean is seeing more than is really in his brother’s look. What the fuck is going on, anyway? It seems like this is really Sam, but how can he be sure of anything? He doesn’t think he’s dreaming but he sure as heck isn’t in Bobby’s living room any more, either. And what happened to Cas?

“Dean? Is Bobby okay? How did you get hurt?”

“Bobby’s fine. Like you said, it was a trap. And we strolled right into it. Town was as vanilla as a Kinkade painting … I was checking it out, split off from Bobby and Cas … And then the Hell Hounds were there.” Dean stops. He doesn’t need to say more, Sam has seen what Hell Hounds do. Dean rubs his thigh trying to ease the spasm.

Sam watches him. “Dean, what aren’t you telling me?”

“That’s the whole story. I was … lucky … they only got my leg.”

 _Jo pushes her guts back into her stomach as he carries her through the street…_ Sam is staring at him and Dean doesn’t know what’s going on in his brother’s mind. Then he thinks Sam must be reliving Hell Hound memories, too. So, Sam’s next words make no sense.

“I thought … She was laughing …”

“Who was laughing?”

Sam tightens his lips and pushes at his greasy bangs. Dean wonders if Sam’s reliving his childhood bath phobia, can’t remember the last time his brother looked this grungy past the age of ten.

“Death showed up on my television.”

Dean doesn’t think he heard Sam right. “Come again?”

“Yeah. I know. As crazy as it sounds, she was on the T.V. in my room. Nice looking in a Marilyn Monroe hell-bitch kind of way … She was in North Dakota waiting for you. Doing a live reporter-on-the-spot thing. Waiting for the Hounds. Street behind her, I could see how wide open it was … no visible cover. You … were running.” Sam stops, can no longer meet his brother’s eyes.

“Sam …”

“It was New Harmony all over again. You were going to Hell and I was fucking useless.”

“Sammy … I’m not in Hell. It’s not your fault. It never was.”

Sam says nothing. Dean looks away. He doesn’t have time for his brother’s emo guilt trip. He’s in Croatoan Ground Zero and in his compromised state he’s got a freakin’ bulls-eye pasted on his ass. Not Dean’s favorite position. He looks sideways at Sam hoping that his brother will have his back and the fact that the answer isn’t an automatic yes aches, but what else can he think after the way they last parted?

“Dean?” There is hesitation and _wonder_ in the one word as Sam is reaching out to Dean’s chest, almost but not quite laying one finger on the familiar amulet hanging there.

“Cas gave it back,” Dean says simply.

Sam drops his hand without touching it but his troubled eyes stare right into Dean’s and it’s quick, but something deep and solid passes between them in that instant. Something Dean has not expected ever again.

But then Sam drops his eyes and Dean wonders what is real and what is memory, and he rubs the amulet for a moment before letting it go to drop against his chest.

“We need to find out what’s going on,” Sam says as he stands suddenly and looms over Dean. Dean can’t quite get his leg to work right. Sam watches him struggle a moment, then helps Dean to his feet without asking.

“I can walk,” Dean gruffs. Thanks to a miracle, but that’s _need to know_ and Sam isn’t back on that list yet.

“Who sent us here? Zachariah? Lucifer?”

“Don’t forget Door Number Three … your friendly neighborhood Pale Rider, ‘ol Blondie herself.”

“Or the Fabio twin.”

“Rivergrove’s not a coincidence.”

“Probably not.”

After just a short distance, Dean knows he’s screwed five kinds of Sundays, and his slowness puts Sam at risk.

“Think we can rig me some sort of walking stick?”

Sam looks at him surprised but recovers quickly and starts scanning the area for something they can use. Dean leans against a tree as Sam finds a fallen branch and it’s not much but it supports Dean’s weight and lets him move without having to hang on to Sam for dear life and … it’s something. _Just be glad you have a leg at all, Winchester_ , he chastises himself. He ignores the questioning looks Sam keeps giving him.

The crazily familiar purr of an engine catches their attention and they look up together as a black Impala rolls past. Dean looks at Sam, brows drawing together and Sam’s got the same _huh_ expression.

They catch up to the Impala pulling in front of the Rivergrove Medical Clinic. From a doorway across the street they see Sam Winchester emerge from the car and race inside, arm supporting an injured woman.

Sam gasps, “What the hell?!”

Dean says, “Wait for it, Sam.”

And then Dean emerges, goes to the trunk and pulls out a wrapped body, heaves it upon his shoulder and follows Sam.

Sam’s mouth is hanging open almost comically and his jaw muscles are twitching and he says, “Shapeshifters?”

“No. I wish. I think we’re back to the future.”

“Wh … at?”

Dean sorts through his memories. “2006, right? You had a vision that I shot someone. That’s why we came here.”

“Tha … that’s … What?”

Sam is freaking out, and how screwed up is Dean’s life that this is old hat? “Zachariah, you sonovabitch, what lesson you tryin’ to teach me now?!” Dean shouts.

“You think Zach is behind this?” Sam is trying to get himself together. He tries for a bitchface. Almost makes it.

“It’s got his M.O. “

Sam looks like he did when he first learned goblins were real. “What ... I mean, we should avoid ourselves, right? Or we’ll mess up the future?”

Dean’s eyes brighten. “You’re right. Because if now you and past you should touch … it’ll disturb the space-time continuum and erase you from existence. Or blow up the entire universe. I forget. But look at the bright side – you won’t have to worry about freeing Lucifer any longer.”

Sam’s eyes widen a moment before his face scrunches. “Screw you.”

Dean laughs. “Relax. I met Mom before she had either one of us, for heaven’s sake, and yet here we are. I think time is harder to screw with than Doc Brown thought.”

As they wait in the doorway across the street, Dean wishes some painkillers had transported with him.

“Sam, got any aspirin?”

Sam gives him a look of concern but doesn’t ask, just feels in the pocket of the jacket he lent to Dean and pulls out a bottle. As Dean is dry swallowing some of the pills, Sam puts his arm out all of a sudden like he’s feeling for something. His brows draw together and his mouth opens slightly.

“What?” Dean asks.

Voice shaky, Sam says, “Lucifer. He’s not here.”

Dean looks around a moment as if to visually confirm this fact. “What do you …?” Then he understands. It’s 2006. Lucifer has not yet risen.

Sam rubs his arms again and Dean wonders what this is about. He meets Sam’s gaze, questions him with his eyes.

“I … feel him. In my blood. Like a constant … vibration or something. And now … now it’s gone.”

Dean didn’t know about this. Hasn’t thought about Sam’s demon blood in a while. And all demons were created by Lucifer, so …

Sam looks down, clearly aware that Dean has made the connections. At one point Dean knows he would’ve been upset, what he’d be thinking _monster_ even if he doesn’t say it. But he’s not that righteous bastard any more. He’s done things that Sam at his demon-blood-drinking worst can never even imagine.

“Sam.” His brother’s name comes out harsher than he intended. Dean tries again. Sam has to understand this. “Sam, you and Lucifer have nothing in common. Not blood. Not anything. You are John and Mary Winchester’s son.” He pauses. “My brother. That’s the only blood that matters.”

Sam meets his eyes with such nakedness that Dean thinks he should have said this a long time ago. Sam doesn’t say anything but for a moment he rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean nods, shaking the moment off. He wishes things were different but too much of the recent past still sits in his craw. He still doesn’t know why Sam walked out after the Cerberus. And this reunion was really an accident, not Sam’s choice. He’s only here because of Zach’s crazy game. When they’ve figured it out, Sam’ll take off again. It’s what he always does. For Sam, family are folks you’re stuck with until you figure out how to escape. Dean wishes he can be this way. But a wish and two dollars might buy a cup of coffee these days.

Younger Dean saunters out of the Medical Center and jumps in the driver’s seat. Even with the pills Dean’s leg is throbbing and he wonders if he’ll ever have that cocky walk again. The Impala pulls away. Dean knows he won’t be gone long. Remembers that uncomfortable ride with his pistol pointing at the Sergeant the whole way back.

Frustration runs through him. “What’s the fucking point? Why’d he bring us here?”

He remembers Sam on the table in the examining room, tears in his eyes _._ _Dean, I'm sick. It's over for me. It doesn't have to be for you ... You can keep going._ Like Dean could ever leave his little brother to die alone.

A deep voice makes them jump. “Dean. Sam.”

“Cas?” they both say at the same time. The angel is before them. But he looks wrong. Strained. _Almost translucent._

“I don’t have much time. My abilities are nearly gone. You have to listen.”

“Did Zach send us here?”

“No. Dean, listen, please … Lucifer’s servant, Kimaris, sent you here. Lucifer can’t kill you, Dean. Not in the present. Michael won’t allow it. But here … in the past … you can die.”

“The virus?” Sam asks.

“No.” Cas looks at Sam. Then, “Yes, in a way. Not from the virus. Sam, you kill Dean.”

Sam recoils. “What?!”

Dean looks from his brother to the angel. Shaken, he exclaims, “Cas, what are you saying?”

“Kimaris has mutated the virus. Here, now, Sam is _not_ immune. When Sam is infected you refuse, Dean, to kill him. But you cannot refuse. You must do it. Not you … I mean the you who is from this time.”

Dean’s head spins. What is Cas talking about? Sam is going to kill him because he’s no longer immune? His heart starts to race and he moves without thinking and a fiery jolt goes through his leg. He stumbles but Sam stops him from falling.

“Cas. Slow down,” Sam says, still supporting Dean. “Explain this.”

Cas focuses his unyielding eyes on Sam. “The plan is to have you kill Dean, here, today. Then you will be alone in the future and Lucifer believes you will say yes if Dean is not there to distract you.”

 _Lucifer thinks I’m a distraction?_ Dean thinks _._ Odd how that annoys him. Like Sam ever listens to anything Dean says. Ah, if the Devil only knew.

“Go on,” Sam says.

“Sam you aren’t supposed to be here. Only Dean was sent back by Kimaris. Presumably to watch himself die, Lucifer’s twisted idea of closure. However, the amulet links the two of you.” Cas looks at Dean, “You disappeared just as I returned it to you.”

Dean never believed the hunk of tin ever had any supernatural powers. It meant something to him, sure. _But it linked them through time?_

Suddenly, Cas staggers.

“Cas, you all right?”

“I am nearly … out of mojo. This has taken too long.”

“How long?”

Dean hears the exhaustion as Cas answers. “Two weeks.”

Sam stares. “But we’ve only been here for maybe an hour.”

“Time is relative, Sam.”

“Yeah, Einstein. Weren’t you listening to anything in school?”

Sam glares and Dean manages a smirk which is better than showing the panic he’s feeling.

Dean tries to process everything Cas has said. “Okay. Lucifer wants me out of the way. Sam caged the Cerberus, Hell Hounds didn’t work, so now he has his henchman shoot us back to the past where Sam … this year’s Sam, will go Croat on me and take me out? Young me dies, I go poof? Score one for Lucie. That about it?”

Cas looks at him in that admiring way that always makes Dean feel good. “You have succinctly stated it. Yes.”

“So what do we do?”

“You have to convince yourself to kill Sam first.”

Dean rubs his face. “See that part … Ain’t gonna happen.” He tries to remember. Thinks they still have time. “Let’s just stop Sam from getting infected. We know where and when it happens.”

“You can’t. You try. But you fail.”

Sam has been quiet. Now he asks Cas, not looking at Dean, “If Dean kills me here, Lucifer will never rise?”

“Sam. No,” Dean interjects immediately.

But Cas is already shaking his head. “Lucifer does not risk his vessel. He has made it impossible for you to come to harm. If his plan to remove Dean fails, none of this happens.”

Sam nods in a way Dean doesn’t like. “Cas is right. You kill me before I kill you and it all resets and at worst we’re exactly where we were. Otherwise … If this Sam kills Dean … he stays dead, right?”

Cas nods. Dean doesn’t like the way the angel’s body is rippling as if Dean’s looking at him through waves of heat.

“No,” Dean repeats, the degree to which he hates this plan is vibrating in every muscle, every vein, every pore of his body. “Why … why can only the Dean from now do this?”

Sam interrupts, “I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself here. Then it’ll reset like you—“

“That will not work,” Cas says.

Dean stares at the angel. “Cas, what’s going on?”

“In the future, where you were, you are dead, Dean. You have been dead since 2006. Only _I_ know that this isn’t right.”

Sam looks at Cas with alarm. “You mean, it works … Lucifer’s plan … _This_. It works?”

“Yes. I have been trying to change it. I have told you this exact information many times. You have tried many ways to stop it. This is the only plan left. _This_ Dean must kill _this_ Sam before he kills _him_. Only then will the reset include you, Dean.”

“What if _I_ do it, Cas? I mean me, me,” Dean asks harshly.

“You tried that. You have tried every possibility, every combination, except this one. None have worked. This is the last choice.”

Sam looks away and down. Dean fights the tremors shooting up his leg and through his back. He remembers the examination room, Sam asking for his gun, telling Dean to leave … he couldn’t do it then, he can’t do it now. And now he has to convince himself to pull the trigger? Even knowing about Hell and Ruby and Lilith and the Apocalypse … Protecting Sammy is his life. How can he be expected to kill his little brother?

**Chapter 13**

They need a place to plan. Dean keeps shivering and Sam knows he’s covering up just how much he’s hurting. There’s time till Sam gets attacked by the doctor’s assistant, so Sam makes quick work of picking a lock and they hole up in a nearby deserted house. Sam wonders if the residents are dead — but it doesn’t matter, everyone is gone when it’s over. _Rivergrove_. If Sam has a list of worst times in his life – this is in the top five. He’s infected. Dying. About to change into a monster and his brother is telling him he’s tired of this life. Dean is giving up and Sam’s helpless to do anything.

Helpless. Useless. Worthless _._ Yeah, that’ll be his headstone.

Cas comes with them but can’t stay. The angel’s eyes never leave Dean. It’s like he’s memorizing his brother in case it’s the last time he sees him. Sam remembers doing this. Watching Dean. Learning from Dean. Trying to be like Dean. World’s biggest case of big brother worship.

Once, it was so simple. Sam’s world consisted of himself, Dad and Dean. The center was Dean. As long as he kept his brother in sight, Sam felt safe. Except Dean started hunting with his father and then Sam stopped feeling safe. And safety is all he wanted. He couldn’t tell Dean his fears. So he studied. Thought, maybe … maybe there was another way. A normal life. He asked himself … _what do I want?_

“Sam, you with us here? Cas doesn’t have much time.”

Sam has been standing at the window for minutes. What is he supposed to do? Figure out a way to get himself killed? To make Dean kill him? He was angry. Was scared out of his mind. Was mind-blowingly sad at the thought of leaving Dean alone. But he was ready to die. Cas says it fails if he simply kills himself. _Dean has to do it._ He looks at Cas. Needs to trust him. Knows that Dean does absolutely. Like Dean used to trust him. _Used to._

Cas looks fragile. The time travel? Sam knows that Cas isn’t connected to Heaven any longer and that his mojo is fading. But … something is different. Cas looks frail … human.

“Cas. You okay?” he asks.

“I am weak. I can only remain a short while and I do not think I will be able to return. This must work.”

“The time travel draining your powers?”

Cas and Dean exchange a look. Secrets. More that Dean can’t _won’t_ tell him. Suddenly Sam wants to explode. Dean clearly is giving Cas a _shut up_ look and the muscles in Sam’s jaw do a jitterbug.

“Yes. It is not as absolute as when the angels all leave after you say yes in the future, but it’s still faster than I had hoped.”

Sam’s anger freezes in confusion. _What is Cas saying?_

“What do you mean?”

Dean looks furious and is trying to interrupt but there is no way in hell Sam isn’t finding out what the angel means. Ignoring Dean, Sam stalks over to Castiel who has suddenly ceased to be intimidating.

And then the clues align … Dean explained how Cas in the future was human … no angel powers left … how he’d changed when the other angels left. But Dean had never said why the angels left. And it’s not Cas who deliberately concealed the truth.

“I said _yes_ and you didn’t think to tell me?!” Sam turns on Dean and pulls him half out of the chair by his shirt, barely containing absolute rage.

“Sam …” Dean doesn’t struggle. His eyes want Sam to understand.

Sam can’t look him, releases Dean back to the chair and stomps to the back door. The blazing pain of this lie is paralyzing. Lucifer’s cockiness, his sureness of Sam’s caving, everything falls into place. _He says yes_. This was the real reason why Dean let him come back after he’d first said they were better off as far away from each other as possible. He’s surprised Dean didn’t just lock him Bobby’s panic room and throw away the key.

He hears Dean limp up behind him. “Sam, it was Zach’s pretend future … it doesn’t have to happen that way.”

“Shut. Up. Dean.”

Sam wants to bust the door and start running and never come back. But the virus is out there and … there is nowhere to go. He moves as far away from Dean and Cas as he can, unable to think.

“I’m sorry, Dean. … did I put my hand in it?”

Dean looks at Cas. “Yeah. And shoved it up about as far as it could go.” But there is no blame in Dean’s voice. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should have told Sam the whole story. I just … Never mind. It’s not your fault.”

Cas must have decided it was pointless to involve Sam further, and talks gently to Dean. “Dean, what you need to do … I understand how hard this is. Each time we’ve had this talk I’ve prayed that there is a way to undo Lucifer’s web. Each time I’ve failed. I have called to Michael … He does not answer. My Father has left me. And now I must go. Leave you.”

Unwillingly, Sam turns to see Cas as close to Dean as he can be without touching. The angel places his hands on either side of Dean’s face. Sam thinks he’s about to see Castiel kiss his brother and the shock of this knocks some of his anger away. But Cas does not touch Dean’s lips.

“Please, Dean. Be there when I get back.”

Dean locks eyes with Cas, gives the barest of nods. “See you soon.”

And Cas vanishes.

Dean slumps forward into the space Cas just vacated, face soft and sad.

Cas loves Dean. Sam’s never quite realized the depth of this attraction. He knows his brother enough to know that it’s not mutual in a sexual way. But it’s not one-sided. Sam looks away. _When did Cas take his place?_ But isn’t it better for Dean that way? Now Sam is just someone to lie to and keep at a distance.

“Do you know what today is?”

Dean eyes him curiously, unsure of where Sam is going with this.

“Today is Cosmic Secret Day.” He sees Dean flinch at the bitterness in his voice. “Three years ago … I mean, today, you told me Dad’s parting words. Remember?”

“Sam …”

“C’mon … no joke? It’s funny isn’t it … the irony? Dad says you’ll have to kill me and then your pet angel says the same thing. Today. Has to be today, I guess.”

For a moment Dean looks beaten, then he snaps, “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about you and Lucifer in the future? Cause I’m not. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t you.”

“That’s why I see you afraid when you look at me. Will this be the day Sam caves? You’ve just been waiting for it.” He turns and holds on to the doorway for dear life. If Dean believes this then … what chance does he have? There’s nothing but a gaping hole ready to suck him into the dark. With Lucifer. Where he belongs.

“Sam, do you want to save my life?”

At the blunt question Sam suddenly can’t breathe. _The thing is... I don't wanna die._ _I'm scared, Sam. I'm really scared._ With every fiber of his being Sam wanted to find a way to keep Dean from going to Hell. He didn’t do it last time. He couldn’t save Dean. He will probably fail this time, too. But _God help him_ he has to try.

Words won’t come out. Sam just nods at his brother.

“Then we do this.”

* * *

The lock clicks and Sam’s in. Dean is still outside. He hates that they have to split up but Dean has to get the others to leave. There’s no way they can do this in front of a crowd. The sight and smell of the clinic brings memory back in a rush. The conversation as he sits on the examining table and begs Dean to leave his gun and go. The relief when he realizes that Dean isn’t going. The anguish when Dean says, “I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of this job, this life.”

The doctor and the Sergeant are about to burst back in to show them the deserted town. The plan is for Dean to intercept them and convince them to leave immediately while they still can. They hope that in the craziness nobody will look too closely and see the different clothes, notice Dean’s limp.

Cautiously, he approaches the locked exam room. Picks a vantage point for a moment’s observation. He cannot see Dean from this angle but he is riveted by the tears on the face of his younger self. He is lost, vulnerable. Sam remembers the fear, the hopelessness, thinking he never expected to live to old age but he had hoped to make 30. A tiny part of him still does, although he knows how impossible that hope is. Gun out, knife and holy water ready, he knocks on the door. Showtime.

Dean _not limping, protective, steadfast_ opens it and stares for a wide-eyed second before his pistol is aimed dead center. Young Sam jumps down from the table and pulls his own gun, stands shoulder to shoulder with his brother.

Sam remembers that solidarity. _You’re my brother. I’d do anything for you._ Realizes it’s still there. But the series of his spectacular failures renders the sentiment moot.

“Easy, guys,” he says.

“Shapeshifter?” young Sam asks, not moving his eyes away.

“Probably. Think they can get infected?”

Sam needs to start explaining. This should be fun. The door opens behind him. Dean enters, and the fun keeps on coming.

“What the …?”

“Two shapeshifters?”

“Stay cool. Don’t get your panties in a twist. We’re not shapeshifters.” Dean moves carefully into the room and holds his pistol away from himself delicately placing it on a nearby counter. Sam follows Dean’s lead and puts down his gun as well. Unarmed they face the other two.

Neither of their younger counterparts put down their weapons.

“Sam,” Sam begins. “We aren’t shapeshifters. Look, silver knife …” he pulls the knife out slowly, holds it up for the other two to see and knicks his forearm. Then he hands the knife to Dean who does the same thing.

“Got any holy water?” Dean asks like he’s asking for ketchup with his fries. “Really should wash these out.”

Young Dean looks at them warily but pulls out a small flask and steps close enough to splash both their wounds while keeping his gun trained on his look-alike. The water washes the stripes of blood away.

“What the fuck is this?” young Dean asks.

“I’m you. From 2009.” He pauses. _Deja freakin’ vu._ “And this is Sam, from the same place … same year.”

“There’s no such thing as time travel,” young Sam snaps.

“Yeah, well, we used to think there’s no such thing as a lot of things, but now we know better, don’t we, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam.”

Sam wants to tell himself to give up this particular battle, but doesn’t bother.

As Sam expects, young Dean cuts to the chase. “Why are you here? Can you help Sam?”

From Dean, this question is as predictable as which direction the sun will rise in the morning. Sam glances at Dean _his Dean_ and sees the flicker of pain pass his face. If he knows this is what Dean will say then clearly so does his brother.

They divide and conquer. Dean talks to his younger self and Sam to himself in the hope that each will respectively be better received by their other selves.

Young Sam stares at him, mistrust in the eyes nearly hidden by the bangs. He’s so used to looking down. It feels odd to be eye to eye with himself. For all that this Sam has gone through there is still innocence in him. So much darkness he has yet to experience.

They trust that the reset Cas promised, will wipe out all memory of this visit so they can be truthful. But Sam knows there’s just so much he will be able to bear to hear so he leaves out huge chunks. _Drinking demon blood?_ Sam doesn’t think there’s ever a way he’d have believed this three years ago. Sometimes he still can’t believe it now.

Young Sam listens warily to his explanation. At times his face whitens but there is no other reaction.

Sam hears the present day Dean from across the room “Lucifer. _The_ Devil?! Bullshit!”

Sam catches his younger self’s eye and a moment passes between them. Sam knows he’s gotten farther along faster than his brother.

Young Sam speaks quietly. “I already told Dean I’d do it myself. Just ... distract them and I’ll get it done.” Only Sam would notice the quaver in the voice.

“I know you would. I would have, too. I’d kill you myself if I had to … But the angel I told you about … Castiel … he says that won’t work. Doesn’t work. The only way that Dean comes out of this alive is for him to kill you. Castiel says this is the right path.”

Sam knows how he felt about angels back then. How he still believed in God. He’s selling himself that it’s God’s will for it to go down this way. It’s not so hard a sell. From across the room, on the other hand …

“You take one move toward my brother and I’ll kill you where you stand, future boy.”

Sam sighs. They have less than three hours. Young Sam will start to turn and then it will be much harder. Maybe impossible.

* * *

Dean fights the feeling that this is impossible. He will never believe himself. And if anybody other than Cas had come up with this plan he’d never go through with it. But Cas will never lie to him. And he’d promised Cas he’d try. Not with words, but Cas understood. He owes Cas more than he can ever repay. And the only damn thing Cas has asked back is for Dean to save his own sorry life.

He runs a hand through his hair and remembers what a dick he thought 2014 Dean was. This Dean is staring at him exactly that way.

“Dude, I’m not going to hurt Sam. I never could. But listen to me, Sam won’t really be hurt. It all gets undone. You two go on to fight another day. I swear it.”

“Because an angel told you so?”

“Not just any angel. Castiel. You can trust him. Remember Mom telling us angels were looking out for us? I think she meant him.”

Young Dean’s eyes grow brighter at the mention of their mother. It’s a low blow but Dean knows this will register.

“You’re asking me to trust this angel with Sammy’s life. Where is he? Why can’t he tell me all this himself?”

 _Actually, I’m asking you to trust this angel with_ our _life_. But Dean doesn’t bother with this, knows he’s not wired to care about it that way.

“He couldn’t stay.”

“Right.”

“No. Listen, outside of Sam and Dad, Cas is …”

Dean stops because there’s no way to explain this to his other self. It has to be lived.

“Do I turn freakin’ gay or what? You get positively dewy when talking about this dude.”

“It’s not like that.” Why is he so obtuse? “He’s just a good guy, who’s done some … who’s helped us. Helped me. Look, we are running out of time, Sam’s gonna turn. Gonna become one of them. You saw them. Animals. Mindless. Strong. He’s going to kill you.”

“Sammy could never …” But young Dean stops. Dean knows exactly what he’s thinking, remembering. The haunted mental asylum. Dr. Endicott. Sam shooting again and again and again.

“It won’t be Sam. You want Sam back. You want Sam to be okay. Trust me. Take that gun and shoot. One second and all will be well.”

Dean’s younger self is vibrating with tension and he feels sympathy, he does, but this has to be done. He fights back the little voice that screams that if anyone hurts his brother he’ll kill them himself.

From across the room he hears the other Sam say. “You don’t know my brother. He’s not going to do this.”

Devotion. Certainty. Absolute belief. Dean sees his Sam’s face darken.

“You don’t know your brother, either. Trust me on this. He’s been thinking about doing this for months. Ever wonder what Dad and he talked about that last day?”

Dean cringes. _No, Sam. Don’t._

“What’s that mean? Dean, what’s he mean?!”

Young Dean looks with panicked eyes. “Sam knows?” he asks.

Dean nods, mentally counts _one … two … three_ and young Sam erupts.

“Knows what?! What the fuck does everyone know but me? Dean, you said Dad didn’t say anything. This is about me and the demon, isn’t it? My powers? And Lucifer’s involved. Is the demon Lucifer? What does he want me for?”

Dean is surprised at how close this Sam has gotten to the truth, but he’s also busy being pissed off at his own Sam’s big mouth. What is wrong with his brother? What’s the freaking point of bringing up all this shit now? They are running out of time.

There’s a brief twinge of remorse in his Sam’s face but it doesn’t last long.

“Dean?” young Sam looks to the brother he knows, but that’s not the Dean who breaks.

“Dad said that if I can’t save you, I might have to kill you. But Dad was wrong. Do you hear me? He was wrong.” He has never said this so vehemently. “This has nothing to do with Dad.” He turns to his younger self. “You protect your brother. It’s what you do. And it’s what you’ll do here, today. You’ll pull that trigger because he won’t be Sammy if you don’t.”

Both Sams have walked over and they all stand stiffly in a four-way face down. Dean looks into his much younger brother’s eyes. _Oh no_. Unfocused. Slightly dazed. The first symptom. _They are running out of time._ He turns his eyes back to himself. Dean knows how his own mind works, knows he is desperately working to come up with another way out of this fucked-up mess. Knows how _he_ didn't believe in the future he was shown in 2014 and he was _in it_. Finally, he looks at Sam, _his Sam_ , thinks that Sam at 23 is a lot more willing to believe he has to be the sacrifice than he should be. Reminds himself that Cas wouldn't have said this was the solution unless it was the only way. He has to trust the angel.

But of course this Dean has no idea of what Cas has done _will do_ for him. So it all comes down to does he trust himself? Will he do it? He searches down deep. Keeps coming back to _No_.

He realizes he is wrong. He can’t be the one to convince himself. There’s only one person that Dean can imagine he’d do this for and it sure as shit isn’t himself.

* * *

Talking to a Dean who is only a year older than himself should let Sam feel equal. Yet it’s like the age difference hasn’t changed anything. Dean is still his older brother. It’s timeless and forever and for a moment he’s reminded of something precious. Something he’s forgotten in the maelstrom that’s come to define their lives.

Present day Dean looks up at him. “Dude, I swear you got even taller. Freakin’ Sasquatch.”

Sam’s lips curl slightly. _So Dean_. “I topped out at 21, Dean.”

“Maybe it’s the hair. Still hate haircuts, Sammy? And, what, baths are out now, too?”

Sam ignores the obvious avoidance and perseveres. “Dean, I know this sounds impossible. But we know what we’re talking about. If you want to save me. Save yourself. This is the way.”

Dean looks up at him again. Softly, “You ever forgive me for not telling you what Dad said?”

Sam is surprised. Didn’t figure Dean would care about that. Certainly it’s not like Dean ever learns this particular lesson. Keeping things from Sam is business as usual. _Ask your brother what happened in hell. … Tell me about when I say yes to Lucifer…_

“Yeah, Dean. It’s fine. Look, he’s right about that. This has nothing to do with Dad.”

Dean looks away, clearly he’s thinking it all over. “You’re here. So Dad had to be wrong. I never have to …”

“No. You never have to kill me.” _Yet_. But Sam figures this Dean really doesn’t need to know this.

“I … couldn’t, Sammy.”

Sam’s slammed by those expressive green eyes. Damn, he’d forgotten how naked they were then. How they tell him everything Dean never can voice. Sam talks, but Dean just looks at him and it is warmer than the tightest hug. So trusting, believing, those eyes. No Hell haunting them. Just one intractable rule – protect Sammy. And to this Sam has to say, _kill your little brother in cold blood._

“Dean. I’m sorry. You have to do this. My broth – Dean explained that everything else has been tried. Castiel told us this is the only way.”

“You believe this angel, Sam? He the real deal? The other me gets this googly-eyed look when talking about the dude. I wanted to ask him to strip and make sure he still has all his male parts.”

Sam treads carefully. There is just so much this Dean can possibly believe. He and Dean have decided not to mention Hell. No need, and that would bring up the deal and what came before it and Dean says he can’t tell himself this.

“Castiel is the real deal. One of Heaven’s Hosts. He and you … have become friends. Cas has gone out on a limb for us. I trust him. _You_ trust him.”

Across the room Sam hears the other Sam say, “Let me try.”

His brother and younger self walk closer. “Dean …”

“Sammy … this is crazy.”

“I believe them.”

“Because they’ve been touched by an angel?”

“No. Because he’s my brother. And if it keeps him from dying then _you_ don’t die either. I would do it myself, but they said that won’t work.”

“Sammy …”

“Dean. I’m sick. I’m starting to feel it. My head is fuzzy. It’s harder to think straight. You saw that woman go crazy. Do you want to watch that happen to me? Take me down like a rabid dog? This way I’ll have some…” his voice catches, but he goes on, “…dignity.”

Sam moves away a few steps. His younger self is crying and the memories are returning and Dean’s face … _this time’s Dean_ … is shattered. Sam looks at his Dean, whose face is harder, resigned, yet is breaking just as hard.

Dean approaches himself. Picks up the gun and hands it to his younger counterpart.

“We’ll wait outside. Do it fast. He’s … he’s our brother.”

They stand in the hallway, side by side, backs to the door. The report of the gun shot is an accusation and Sam jerks and shuts his eyes tight. He hears Dean’s harsh intake of air. The crack of a second shot reverberates through the air and passes through Sam’s soul. _Oh God. No._

Sam races back in the room, Dean behind him.

The bodies lay dead together in a crimson puddle. The larger one draped over the smaller as if to hold on, to shelter, to keep.

A final brotherly embrace.

That neither would ever feel.

Sam imagines how he must have slumped in his brother’s arms. Knows Dean held him tight to his own chest. Tears landing on young Sam’s still face. He hears Dean’s last words in his head. _Right behind you, little brother_.

He wants to scream. To make someone else feel this pain so he doesn’t have to. To wipe this unbearable sight away. He knows he’s crying but can’t stop and can’t speak and he grasps for the only thing he’s ever reached for when nothing makes sense.

Dean grabs him in return and they stand there looking down in silence _Dean is shaking_ and he thinks that you’re not supposed to witness your own death and he wants to hug his brother or punch him or maybe both at the same time.

“Why Dean?” he finally chokes out.

Dean looks at him, eyes welling, tears starting to track down. “You know why, Sammy.”

“Lucifer wins,” Sam says.

“So he wins,” Dean replies.

Sam tries to shake free of the torrent that’s caught him. Tries to think. They’re still here. _Both of them._

“Dean. It didn’t reset. We’re still here. In 2006.”

“Maybe we … I mean I hate sci-fi mumbo jumbo, but … we both just died in our own past. Maybe we no longer … exist?”

They jump at the clapping sound coming behind them.

“Ding, ding, ding. And the prize goes to Dumbo for figuring out that you two nimrods just wiped yourselves out of the ballgame. The stadium. Heck, out of the freaking universe. But, hey, you know, _whoops_.”

**Chapter 14**

Dean stares at the smug little man. No freakin’ way he just went through this … _torture_ … because of this immature, waste of space, douche bag.

“Another game show? _This is Your Life, Crack Edition_?”

Gabriel smirks. Walks around them to peer down at their dead younger selves. Pulling a tissue from his pocket he wipes fake tears off his cheek and blows his nose. “Very Romeo and Juliet.” He looks toward Sam. “Guess that makes you Juliet?”

Sam bitchfaces, but keeps his temper in check. Good boy, Dean thinks. This asshole deserves one in the kisser but right now he’s holding all the cards.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, voice dead serious.

“Me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Want me to go?”

Dean wishes with all his heart he can just say, yes. Instead he waves his hand around the room. “This? The Time Traveler’s Brother … ‘S yours?”

Gabriel looks offended. “Puhleez. I can do better than this with both eyes closed. Where’s the spark? The subtlety? The _joie de vivre_? Nope. This reeks of amateur. And I don’t like others playing in my sandbox. Especially when they don’t even bother to clean up their toys.”

At this last, he nudges the bodies with his boot.

“Get away from them,” Dean snarls.

Sam steps closer to him, touches his arm for a second. Dean knows that losing his temper with this bozo is dangerous but dammit, this SOB does _not_ touch these bodies.

Dean looks at himself and his brother lying dead together on the floor. The dickwad is right … Romeo and Juliet does come to mind. If he can imagine the blood being gone he thinks it reminds him of when they were really little and used to curl up around each other sharing a motel twin bed. Was good, he can’t help but think. _You did good, Dean. You held your brother and never left him alone._ Maybe he should have done this at Cold Oak. Spared himself Hell. Saved Sammy from Lucifer.

No, Lucifer isn’t getting Sam, not as long as Dean still is breathing. He takes a tentative, shallow breath to confirm that, in fact, the _still breathing_ part is still true.

Sam is watching Dean and catches his gaze. Dean sees understanding. He thinks Sammy is remembering the safety of sleeping together, too.

“Cas says Kimaris sent us here,” Dean tells Gabriel.

“Cas, eh? Little brother still obsessively searching for Daddy?”

“Yeah, well your _other_ brother keeps trying to drag me to Hell.“

“What can I say? I guess you don’t have the market cornered on brothers who turn dark.”

Sam stirs and Dean suddenly feels defensive for his brother in a way that he hasn’t in a long time. He wonders which brother he’s feeling this way about … the live one standing next to him or the dead one embracing him on the ground? The way they’ve fallen it’s like Sammy is trying to protect him from something. He pulls his eyes away from them and forces himself to stay focused on the archangel.

His leg is hurting again and he shifts, trying to keep the muscle tremors from becoming cramps. Sam notices.

Sam pulls over a beat-up chair for Dean and he sits. With the adrenaline out of his system the discomfort is rapidly ratcheting up into lip-biting painful. But he almost wants to stand anyway, he finds looking up at Gabriel unsettling. Not that he's not been the shorter one since about Sam hit sixteen. But standing next to Sam doesn't make him feel shorter. Must be a big brother thing. But it's not. It's a Sam thing. And he's missed it. Except now, Sam is standing beside him with a determination he hasn’t seen since before … well, before Hell.

“So what happens now?” Sam cuts to the chase.

They can dance around this all night but either Gabriel saves Dean’s life or he doesn’t. Unless he can just stay here? Relive the past three years anonymously. No name, no responsibilities. _No Zu-Zu’s petals._ Damn if the idea doesn’t appeal. A clean slate. What would he do? _Rest_ , comes the instant answer. Just rest.

Of course, this idea works best if Sam stays here with him. But why would Sam stay with him? If they couldn’t go back to their time his brother could go back to school, have a real life. Call Dean on his birthday. Maybe visit on Thanksgiving. Or would Sam stay? Dean honestly doesn’t know the answer. But that’s not the question right now.

“What would you like to happen?” Gabriel asks.

Sam looks at Dean, eyes opening wide , silently conveying … _is it possible that Gabriel will help us?_ Dean shrugs slightly. He doesn’t trust the archangel. He’s been a trickster way too long.

“Cas said that everything would reset if I was killed,” Sam offers. “Like none of this ever happened.”

“Yeah, well that part’s true. Except everything’s on hold now.”

“On hold?” Sam questions.

“Until I decide what to do with you.”

“How about you just knock over Kimaris’s sand castle and send us home?” Dean challenges.

“Is that what you really want, Dean? To go back? Lucifer’s still itching to get you back to his playground. On the rack. Or off it. Not sure what he’s looking forward to the most.”

“Dean comes back with me,” Sam says in a tone that broaches no arguments.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Sam, you don’t need him. You never did. I tried to show you this. Gave you example after example. You lose him, Sam. It’s what you do.”

Sam’s jaw contracts. “Not. Any. More. He comes back with me.”

“You think you have power here, boy?!” Gabriel glares at him.

Dean intercedes. Has a memory of standing between his father and his brother. Always provoking, his Sammy. “Gabriel. We get it. You’re calling the shots. Tell us our parts and let’s move this along.”

“We’re past playing games. The lesson’s over. The class is out.” Gabriel ignores Sam and looks straight at Dean. “What would you like to happen?”

Dean’s spidey sense tingles at red alert. That’s twice the angel’s asked the same question. Sam is staring, equally on edge. What’s the right answer? He feels like he’s on that Japanese game show again. Even though it’s in English he still doesn’t understand the question. And he has a feeling the wrong answer is going to get him more than kicked in the nuts.

“Shall I do some housecleaning while you’re thinking?” Gabriel points toward the bodies. “Gonna get rank in here soon. I should get rid of them.”

“No.” The word catches in Dean’s throat.

With a silent look at Dean, Sam walks over to a cabinet and pulls out two clean white sheets. He hands one to Dean. Together they carefully separate the bodies. He didn’t wrap Sam in a shroud after Cold Oak. This Sam is just a few months shy of dying there. With shaking fingers Dean closes the empty eyes. He feels the dead weight as he maneuvers the cloth around his baby brother. His chest hurts. He realizes that Sam’s movements are mirroring his own. _He did this once before,_ Dean thinks. From the hitch in Sam’s breathing Dean can tell Sam’s crying. He feels the wetness on his own cheeks.

They finish almost in unison and slide the bodies until they are once again touching, side-by-side. Dean feels the strength of Sam’s shoulder against his own. Strong. Alive. _With him_. In that godforsaken room when he returned from making the crossroads deal, Sam was awkward, didn’t hug back. And then he left Sam, alone with the guilt of sending Dean to Hell. Guilt that didn’t belong to Sam. Dean used to think that love meant never letting go. His brother brushes against him again. Maybe it means side by side?

“Okay Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber. I hate to break this very special Hallmark moment but time’s a wastin’. Well not really, cause it’s really standing still, but you get the picture.”

Sam wordlessly helps when Dean lurches trying to stand. His leg throbs from kneeling and he needs to sit again. As he makes it to the chair, Sam speaks out.

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to happen.”

 _No_. Dean sees Gabriel’s eyes get all bright as Sam speaks.

“I’ll bet you would,” Gabriel says. “First answer me this. Why bother wrapping them up all cozy like. Not like they’re going to feel it.”

Sam looks from the covered forms to Dean to Gabriel. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Gabriel’s next question is directed at Dean. “What was the plan? Kill Sam before he kills you?”

He nods. Has a sense that the less that either of them actually says the safer they’ll be. Hopes Sam understands this, too. For once, he’s not afraid that he’ll be the one to shoot off his big mouth. It’s a strange position to be in.

What’s the point of this? It’s not like Gabriel doesn’t know exactly what happened in that room. Probably was hiding and watching, the bastard. Enjoying the show.

As if reading his mind, Gabriel supplies, “Sammy had to hold the gun because your hand was shaking too much. He steadied it for you.”

Dean wants to throw up. He does not want to hear this.

“Want to know what they said at the end? Last words.”

“Shut up,” Sam says.

“Dean cried like a girl. But then again he always was the weaker of you two. Isn’t that right, Sam? Didn’t you say that yourself?”

Sam explodes and leaps at the other man, shoving him against the wall. Dean rises, almost goes down as his leg protests but tries to get to Sam as fast as he can before his brother gets himself smited.

“My brother’s not weak. He’s withstood more than-- I …” Sam stops, steps back on his own before Dean has to pull him away from the rebel angel.

“I was wrong, Dean,” Sam is no longer paying attention to Gabriel. Dean thinks his brother might have more to say but not here, not in front of Gabriel. And maybe there isn’t anything to add.

Dean nods. That fight in the Honeymoon Suite feels like it happened in a different life. He’s pushed those words down deep. Once in a while they rise up to sting, but he gets now they were spoken in pain, not anger. Dean wants to make it clear to Sam that he understands this.

“Forgave you a long time ago … before that final mess with Lilith. ‘S why I left you the message. Wanted you to know.”

Sam gives him a mystified look and Dean wonders if his brother had ever bothered to listen to his voice message, not that it matters any longer, but then Gabriel interrupts.

“Oh, regarding that…” Gabriel nods, “Have to give a tip of the hat to Zach on that one. Slick. Wish I’d thought of it first.”

“Wha…?” Sam is still confused. Dean suddenly feels sick.

An iPhone appears in the archangel’s hand. He thumbs it on. “Here we go, Deano’s Kodak moment. I only wish we had some violins for accompaniment.”

Dean’s stuttered voice comes from the phone, “… I'm still pissed... and I owe you a serious beat down. But ... I shouldn't have said what I said. You know, I'm not Dad. We're brothers. You know, we're family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change. Sammy, I'm sorry.”

“’Course that’s not quite what Sammy Boy here heard, is it?” Gabriel continues gleefully, pointing at Sam, as Dean’s voice comes from the phone again – cold, hard almost beyond recognition.

“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”

“Sonovabitch!”

“Bastard!”

For a moment Dean is in complete agreement with his brother’s desire to whip the angel’s ass back to the pearly gates and they both actually start toward him.

“Boys, boys! This one wasn’t mine! You’ll need to take this up with Zachariah. That is assuming you figure out how to get yourselves back to the Apocalypse. So tell me, what would you like to happen?”

“I’d like to win,” Sam says instantly.

Dean’s back to standing beside his brother. Gabriel is looking directly at him. Why is it so important that Dean reply to this? He senses his life depends on this answer and suddenly the future matters more than it has in a long time.

“I can see why my brother chose you. That’s the answer he’d give.” Gabriel is nodding in satisfaction.

“Sam has nothing in common with Lucifer,” But a tiny part of Dean can’t help but agree that the Devil would give the same answer.

But what was wrong with winning? Should they want the world to freaking end? _Winning_. What did that even mean? Dean looks once again at the shrouded bodies on the floor. Together … and dead. No future in Hell, no demon blood, no Michael suit, no Lucifer.

Technically, they had won.

“The plan was wrong,” Dean says. “It’s not about winning.”

Gabriel is staring at him intently now. Green eyes burning into his own.

He turns to look briefly at his brother standing beside him, before locking eyes with Gabriel.

“I would like,” he tells Gabriel plainly. “Not to lose.”

A small grin crosses the angel’s face. He looks up suddenly like he’s hearing someone. Dean feels something _someone_ pass through him, surround him, seeking purchase -- a clasp from the inside out. It’s ancient and hot and prickly tendrils are trying to weave themselves through his muscles, imbed themselves and lock him down. The more he struggles, the tighter it clutches.

Sam grabs Dean’s sleeve at his brother’s tremor.

“Dean?” Sam asks alarmed.

As quick as it came, the invisible tethers vanish and Dean’s muscles strum with the sudden release.

“Was that … _Michael_?” Dean whispers.

Gabriel smiles in his typically cocky way. “Wanted a peek at the goods.” The smaller man walks back to the bodies and snaps his fingers. They vanish.

The archangel is done playing with them. Moment of truth.

“Will you send us both back?” Sam’s question comes out unexpectedly humble. Dean hears the anxiousness.

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you nimrods to find out.”

Gabriel snaps his fingers again. And the world goes black.

Chapter 15

 _OW!_ Sam’s hip slams against the hard edge of a wooden table that wasn’t there a moment ago. He sees Cas, a questioning look on his face. Sam reflexively rubs the ache while his eyes search Bobby’s chaotic living room. _Dean?_ _Oh God._ His chest tightens. Castiel’s face becomes almost unbearably sad.

Before either can say anything, Bobby wheels in from the kitchen but stops at the sight of Sam.

“Jesus, Sam, where in the hell did you come from?”

“Bobby … Where’s … did you see Dean?”

Bobby looks at Sam oddly. “How did you get here?”

“Forget me. Bobby, where’s Dean?”

“He’s not here.”

Sam buckles against the table. _Gabriel, no. Don’t do this. Please_.

“Sammy?”

Sam shuts his eyes _he can breathe again_ and murmurs _thanks_ before turning around to see Dean enter Bobby’s front door holding a paper pharmacy bag and a wooden cane. Sam is at Dean’s side in two steps and his hand is squeezing Dean’s shoulder. Dean is holding the bag and the cane and it’s all he can do to keep standing. Sam steps back.

“What do you remember?”

Sam reads the answer in Dean’s eyes before his brother murmurs quietly, “Everything.”

Now Cas is touching Dean’s arm as well, stoic expression unable to hide the angel’s need to assure himself that Dean is really there. Sam moves away giving them a moment. It’s very new, this sharing, and will take getting used to … but Cas gives Dean something that Sam can’t. It hurts, but Dean needs this. And Sam will be damned if he is going to get in the way of something his brother has that is _good._

“You came back,” Cas says.

Dean juggles the bag and cane to one hand and puts the other on Cas’s shoulder. “Said I would.”

“Why do I feel like I came in at the end of a really long girly movie?”

They all turn to Bobby. Dean laughs.

Cas explains, “Lucifer tried to have Dean killed in the past. Kimaris sent him to Rivergrove, Oregon in 2006. Sam was infected with the Croatoan virus and was supposed to kill Dean. But they changed it.” Cas is looking at Dean with questioning eyes. “Did it happen like we … spoke about?”

Bobby eyes grow huge at this explanation. Sam’s gut twinges at the flatness of _Sam was supposed to kill Dean_. He doesn’t want to have to tell Bobby the rest of it … It’s too personal. Too close. Dean, with a quick look at his brother, takes over in the instinctive way he does.

“Not exactly. Details aren’t important, but I guess we … got carried away and messed up the past. Kinda made it hard for us to be alive … now. But your pal Gabriel showed up. Played twenty questions and then brought us back.”

Cas looks at Dean and then Sam. Sam knows the angel can guess what happened, can see it in the sadness emanating from the other man’s crystal blue eyes. Which suddenly are puzzled, “My brother Gabriel helped you?”

There is a touch of amazement in his voice.

“Well, we’re both here. So I guess he did,” Sam says. He can’t help but wonder what the price will be for this favor. And the answer wasn’t winning. _Not losing_. He understands, somewhat, how he was wrong. But still isn’t sure how Dean was right. Except as his eyes meet his brother’s he feels a familiar sense of trust. Fragile, but there, rewoven by the last several hours. The second gunshot. The image of their bodies together in blood on the floor. Wrapping Dean’s body in a shroud … again …

 _Not losing._ Keeping what they have. Being brothers. This is what the last two years have taken from him. Surrounded by evil, lost in despair and hate. He’d forgotten what good is. Sam returns to Dean’s side and once more puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. _His brother._ Cas has had him enough. It is his turn again.

Dean smiles. A real smile. Sam’s missed that for so long he’s almost forgotten how the world is better, safer, brighter, when it’s in place. How it fills his heart.

But Bobby is speaking again. No rest.

“You boys can’t stay here. Kimaris knows where you are. Might send the Hounds or worse after Dean.” Dean stays calm but Sam’s grip tightens on his shoulder.

“You’re right,” Dean tells Bobby. “Cas and I will leave as soon as we pack up.”

Dean hesitates a moment, looks at Sam and starts to take a step back. Sam can’t imagine what’s going on. There’s a funny twist to Dean’s lips.

“Dean?”

The cane rasps on the wood floor as Dean adjusts slightly, shifting his weight. “Just wanted to know if you are coming with.”

Sam’s heart skips a beat. It hasn’t occurred to him that they wouldn’t leave together. “If … if it’s okay with you,” he says, trying for steady but settling for not quite wobbly.

“All right then,” Dean says simply. But his eyes say so much more.

Cas breaks their wordless exchange. “I must leave now.”

Dean looks down at Cas, clearly surprised.

“Best that I follow Kimaris. He thinks he’s a good tracker. I am better.”

“Keep your cell phone on.”

“Of course, Dean,” The angel pauses, turns to Sam. “Take care of him.”

Sam meets Cas’s impenetrable gaze head on. “With my life.”

Castiel returns his eyes to Dean. Tilts his head and then nods. He vanishes leaving Dean staring at the spot where he’d been.

The unexpected blare of the door bell causes everyone to start. Bobby heads to answer it motioning for Sam and Dean to stay out of sight.

He returns a moment later with a large wrapped parcel. He places it on the low coffee table and uses his Swiss Army knife to carefully remove the wrapping.

It contains an oversized, ancient looking tome. Sam takes a step closer to check it out. “What’s that Bobby?”

“Something Tamara unearthed. Will help us.”

“With what?” Dean asks, moving over to peer behind Bobby’s other shoulder.

“Death.”

* * *

Dean’s leg is stronger but it hurts to drive more than a short distance. He curses again that the damn Hell Hound had to hurt his driving leg but it’s done and it could have been so much worse. He looks at Sam behind the wheel and tries to find a more comfortable position.

“Just let me know when you want me to pull over,” Sam says.

Sam is more _here_ than Dean can remember in a long time. His words flow more freely. He’s looking at Dean, not past him. They’ve argued about music. Dean smiles. The world is falling apart and he’s … happy. Go figure.

“How ‘bout next nice scenic rest spot you see. I’ll stretch it and walk a bit.”

Some miles down the road, Sam pulls the Impala into a parking spot overlooking a vista of evergreens as far as the eye can see. There’s a picnic bench but it reminds Dean too much of another _not so good_ time and he avoids it, walks instead to the protective railing of the lookout point and leans into it to soak in the view. Dean is always impressed at how beautiful this country is. If he shuts his eyes he sees the devastation, decay, waste, in that nightmare of a future. He rejects it. Sam is at his side. Ain’t gonna happen.

Sam hands him a beer and folds his arms on the railing also looking out.

“You know, half the times we’re at these places I never even see what’s out here,” Sam says.

“Yeah. Obsessing about the end of the world will do that to you.”

Sam nods, takes a long sip. Dean shifts to take his weight off his bad leg. He notices Sam staring at him.

“I know,” Sam says.

Dean’s brows move up. “Know what?”

“Bobby said they were going to am--amputate your leg. Cas is drained of almost all his angel powers. So, he used them up healing you?”

“’S better now. What difference does it make?”

Sam shakes his head and twists his lips as if he’s trying to rid himself of a disgusting taste. “The difference is that I wasn’t there. Cas was.”

Dean feels his brother’s self recrimination. Isn’t sure what to say. It’s true. Sam wasn’t there and that had been his choice. On the other hand, the Hell Hounds might have hurt them both and Cas barely had enough juice left to just help him. Dean takes a deep breath.

“Sam. It’s not your fault. Do I wish you hadn’t walked away? Yeah. But was I glad you weren’t there when those … things appeared? Absolutely. Right then you couldn’t have been far away enough.”

“I should have been there. With you.”

“You’re here now.”

Sam looks at him, seems like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. They both silently drink more of their beers.

“Gabriel says, I lose you.” Sam says.

Dean meets his eyes again.

“Think he means because I say yes to Lucifer? Or because you say yes to Michael? Or both?”

Dean’s eyes darken. “I think Gabriel is a little Napoleon who is making up for lack of size by pissing on anything he doesn’t understand. Which is a whole lot.”

Sam’s mouth turns up in a tiny grin as Dean continues.

“The angels – the archangels especially, are brothers who forgot what that means. Now you and I … we know a little about that ourselves. Except now I think … we’ve got our heads on straight again.”

Sam looks at him like he has a million times before. Like his little brother listening to his words as if they mean everything. There have been times that Dean’s resented this responsibility. Not now. This minute it feels like the most precious gift he’s ever been given. And it’s about time he starts giving a little of that gift back.

“Sam. You can’t lose me.”

Sam meets Dean’s eyes and swallows hard and Dean feels his throat tighten in response. “Me, neither.” Sam chokes out.

“You neither?“ Dean smiles. “That the best you can do at this oh-so-touching moment?”

“I meant –“

Dean wants to tease more but Sam’s eyes are so vulnerable. “I know what you mean, little brother.”

Sam stands there unable to speak, eyes open and wet and bare.

“Dammit, c’mere,” Dean says, tugging Sam into a hug.

Of all the hundreds of times they’ve pulled over in the middle of nowhere to talk, or confess, or rage, they have never done this. Dean’s strict upbringing squawks _what is this shit?_ But Sam is all arms and stronger than a vise and it’s been so long since Dean’s let himself just feel.

“Thank you,” Sam murmurs.

Dean shrugs it off. That little shit runaway archangel was good for one thing, it gave him back Sammy. It’s almost enough to turn Dean religious.

“We should get moving.” Dean starts the walk back to the Impala. He hardly notices his leg.

Sam suddenly asks, “Do you miss Cas?”

Dean looks at Sam surprised. “Only been a day since we seen him.”

Sam looks away. “Never mind.”

Dean stops, causing Sam to come up short and look toward Dean’s leg with sudden concern. But there’s nothing wrong with Dean’s leg. “Sam. I only have one brother.”

His brother grins at this, the light hitting his hazel eyes, reminding Dean how beautiful they are when they are happy.

* * *

Dean’s asleep in shotgun, head leaning against his window. There’s a slight sliver of drool sliding down from the corner of his brother’s full lips and Sam is surprised at the absolute joy he gets from noticing this. He hasn’t let himself really see Dean since...

Certainly since before Dean went to Hell. All he did that year was look at Dean.

But when Dean came back Sam couldn’t let himself see him. Couldn’t face the thought of losing him all over again and so he simply shut his eyes. More, he pushed him away. Made Dean leave him. Preemptive strike. There are many kinds of hell. He knows Dean will always suffer from the one he was forced into. But Sam, too, has experienced hell. Different times, different ways. Once, a trickster took Sam to hell. He thought he’d come back but he’d been wrong. When Dean said _c’mere_ , he was finally released.

Dean’s hug is the safest Sam remembers feeling since he was little and thought that Dean was omnipotent. With Dean at his side it seems impossible that Lucifer can ever snake his way into his mind again.

Dean snores once and his head lolls toward him. Sam smiles, wishes he had a plastic spoon. It’s good doing this, driving, letting his brother rest. Different than the extra driving he’d done right after Ellen and Jo. He thinks about what Dean confessed about how maybe he’d have been able to love Jo one day. Thinks about Cas. Now that would have made some triangle.

For all Dean’s womanizing, Sam knows that should his brother allow himself to fall in love, he’d be a one-woman man. There was that woman and her son in Indiana. He can’t even remember her name now. Dean’s good with children. Sam smiles. That’s because his brother’s a child himself in so many ways. Dean would make such a good father. Thinking of Dean as a dad, of himself as the cool uncle who tells the embarrassing stories that make Dean squirm, fills him with the closest thing to hope he can muster.

But then reality shoots down the dream. What stories? The Wendigo in Colorado? The racist ghost truck that nearly pulverized his brother? The time Uncle Sam was possessed by a demon and killed a man in cold blood?

They will never have normal lives. He knows this. It’s just hard to love his brother as much as he loves Dean and not wish … _The contract_. Sam didn’t get more than a couple of looks into the text that Bobby obtained but something’s been bugging him about it since they left South Dakota. The Horseman Death lives between Hades and Earth. It moves the soul from the mortal body to wherever he’s destined to go, but it doesn’t control those destinies, that particular prerogative still belongs to Heaven. For those poor souls predestined for Hell, Death opens the door. _Only_ Death can open Hell’s door.

Bobby declared that Dean isn’t going back to Hell. The old man really couldn’t be thinking of controlling Death, could he?

Chapter 16

Sam pulls into the motel parking lot and nudges his brother awake. It takes a few tries and Dean grouses mightily.

“Wuz havin’ a good dream.”

“Yeah? ‘Bout what, the Taylor twins?”

Dean gets a sheepish look on his face at Sam’s question. Sam thinks he’s not going to answer, but then Dean says, “Nah. Not that kind of good. It was about … us, when we were kids.”

Dean’s eyes are still sleepy, warm. The sudden lump in his throat surprises Sam. “I like those dreams,” he offers.

“You have ‘em, too?” Dean asks surprised.

Sam nods. “Sometimes.”

“Wasn’t all bad, was it Sammy?”

His brother sounds all of twelve. “No, it wasn’t all bad.”

Inside the room they settle on their respective beds and Sam is really glad that Cas isn’t with them, knows how petty this is but can’t help it. Of course, since Dean’s napped for the last 200 miles he’s not tired. Sam, on the other hand, really wants to pass out.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You were good in that play.”

“Huh?”

“In Middle School. Our Town. You were good.”

Sam is almost too tired to smile. His brother has found so many different ways to say, I love you, it could fill a dictionary.

“Thanks,” he answers.

“Did I ever tell you that?”

 _I love you, too_. “Yes. You did.”

Dean is quiet again for a few minutes.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You would have made a great lawyer.”

 _A new one_. Sam is momentarily stunned, isn’t sure what to reply.

“Or a computer customer service rep,” Dean tacks on with a laugh.

Sam remembers the yellow shirt, the lab-rat cubicles, the incessant phone inquires that usually could be fixed with _did you try turning it off, then on?_

“You were driving a Prius, Dean.”

“Wasn’t me,” Dean instantly balks. “Zach gave me that thing. Turned me vegan, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m just sayin’ …”

“Yeah, well, shut up.”

“You started this.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean’s quiet again.

“Sam?”

“Dean, I really need to sleep.”

There’s fidgeting. “Will the T.V. bother you?”

“Just keep it low, should be fine.”

Sam hears the hum of the television turn on. Dean flips stations and the sounds blend into a white noise. He’s so tired he thinks even if Dean took to watching a marching band it wouldn’t matter. All he needs is sleep.

“Hello Sam.”

_No!_

The room has changed. The paintings are now all modern. Broad swathes of red and black and green splattered as if a kindergartner was having a tantrum. The colors are angry, livid, enraged. The furniture is black and white, tables all glass – like ice. Is this Lucifer’s idea of anti-Hell? A frozen world where heat doesn’t penetrate?

Sam hasn’t turned around, doesn’t want to see him. He will keep control. He will win. Slowly he moves to face the evil that wants to consume him.

Lucifer is dressed in all black. It’s not cheesy. It’s slick and fine and rich and he looks like he ripped the clothes off a _GQ_ cover. Sam’s still in his sleep clothes, wonders when the fashion show will start.

“I’m disappointed, Sam. You cheated. Getting my brother, Gabriel, to help you.”

“He’s smart. Knows which team to put his money on.”

“Team? I see. You and Dean, I assume?”

Sam doesn’t answer. Doesn’t want to draw Dean into this. He wishes now he’d used another word.

“You think Gabriel did you a favor? He didn’t. I was giving your brother a gift, Sam. You see this, don’t you?”

 _Gift? Trying to kill him?_ Sam hated that Lucifer was still talking about Dean.

“Think, Sam. If Dean died in 2006, before trading his soul for your life … I was only trying to spare him.”

The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand up. “Why?”

“Because I like Dean,” Lucifer says tilting his head slightly. “He is beautiful in his own way. Not like you, of course, but Michael chose well.”

“Because we’re brothers?”

Lucifer tilts his head again. “Are you asking me who was chosen first?”

Sam is wondering this and can’t stand how quickly Lucifer reads him. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He feels very certain he will hate the answer. Sam says nothing and hopes Lucifer will move on to the point of tonight’s visit. Except Sam already knows.

“It always had to be you, Sam.”

Sam just nods. Who cares any more? Just because Lucifer wants him, doesn’t mean he’s getting him. He’s tired of being jerked around. Since before he was even born they’ve been screwing with his family. It ends here.

A bucket materializes on the glass table holding a bottle of champagne.

Lucifer pours and hands Sam a fizzy crystal flute. Sam’s wearing a black tux. High quality. Feels like he should be on the freakin’ red carpet of some Hollywood premiere. Sam steels himself. The contest of wills begins again.

He accepts the champagne but doesn’t bring it to his lips. Doesn’t know what kind of affect it can have on him in this dream world and he knows he needs to stay sharp. Lucifer’s eyes are glistening again, blue, almost silver. A moonlit ocean. _So beautiful_. Sam shuts his eyes. _No_. He will keep control. Remember the scaling skin, the beady, washed out eyes, wasted circles under them.

“Sam, why do you keep saying no?”

Sam stares at Lucifer. The question is almost comical, except the fallen angel asking it is deadly serious.

“Because I like humanity,” he answers honestly.

Lucifer thinks about this. His face twists and for a moment his darkness peeks through. Sam thinks this might be the one sticking point their relationship will not get around.

“There are some things you … humans … got right. I will not deprive you of those things.”

Lucifer eases closer and Sam’s stomach lurches. The devil’s eyes grow darker and … hotter. “Pleasure, for one,” Lucifer purrs.

Instinctively Sam tosses the champagne onto the other man’s face and sidesteps away. He expects anger but doesn’t get it. Lucifer is licking it off his own face in decadent enjoyment.

“We can play rough, Sam.”

Sam fights his panic. There’s nowhere in the room to hide. _Dammit,_ _he’s not gonna be fucked by the Devil!_

“I want you to know what you’re passing up every time you say no. It’s not just about the power. Our union will bring you ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams. Sam, I’ve waited millennium for a body such as yours. Strong enough to take me. As a human you’ve experienced tiny pleasures, microscopic moments of joy.

“Picture the universe, Sam. The stars, the planets, expanses greater than any human ever conceived. Imagine the energy of everything ever created moving through you, inside you, flowing into your veins, pumping through your heart, weaving through the synapses of your brain. You will _know_ everything. _Feel_ everything. _Be_ everything.”

He steps closer to Sam. Close enough to touch. Lucifer’s lips move toward his own. Sam jerks his head away.

The Devil smiles. “I forget your silly notions of man and woman. When we are one these things will fall away, the way your hairy ancestors did away with walking on all fours.”

The air pulses and suddenly Jess is there. _No. Don’t do this. Not her._

“Sam, is it easier this way? All soft and round and full?”

Her _no Lucifer’s_ hands are on him now, reaching up to his shoulders and her _not her_ lips are grazing his chin and it’s familiar and warm and _oh God_ , she smells so good. He hasn’t been with a woman for anything more than physical release in forever and he can’t help his body responding … Delicate fingers are lightly tracing the angles of his jaw, moving up his cheeks.

“I’ve always loved these dimples,” _Not Jessica_ is saying but she’d really said that and he doesn’t understand how the Devil can know this …

“Stop,” he is almost crying. “Be Nick. Not this.”

Lips … he’s always loved her full lips and the things she did with them, the way she’d suck him into her mouth and … he kisses her hard and deep, wants to inhale her because he’s been alone so long and it hurt so much when she was taken, destroyed him ...

She invades his mouth and he goes hard instantly at the heat and moistness and sweetness of her tongue, her lips, her face. He’s touching her breasts through the sheer white material of her night gown and her nipples harden and he remembers how they taste, how she’d shudder when he teased them.

“Do you love me, Sam?”

Her voice is tender and warm and embodies all the good in the world. He wants to say yes, feels it start to come up his throat and he opens his eyes a fraction and her eyes don’t match her voice. She’s not in there -- her soul is missing. He shuts his eyes again. A figure cowers in a corner of his mind, shaking and crying and rocking back and forth _no no no_ …

Hands cup his crotch _wrong wrong_ and it shoots pleasure through him, he’s trembling with it, wants her, can feel himself giving in as she pulls him closer.

“Let me in, Sam, open up … love me. I’ll be yours forever. You promised me forever, remember, all those nights in Half Moon Bay, when we watched the shooting stars and I asked how long you’d love me and you said, forever.”

“I did … I do … Jess … stop, please …” He wants this and he can’t want it, it’s not real …

The room shimmers and he’s on his back, naked and she’s kneeling above him, the nightgown gone -- gorgeous, hair radiating moonbeams, skin lit from within, burning him with the lightest touch. The little figure in his head is standing now ranting, raving, screaming but he can’t hear the words, only sees the gestures and they seem silly coming from something so small. What’s its problem anyway? This is Jess, the woman he loves, the woman he adores and she’s offering him eternity and he’ll be safe and it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“That’s it, Sam. Let me love you. I’ll love you forever, we’ll never be apart. We’ll go to Heaven together and past it, blast our way to another realm where nothing can touch us, hurt us …”

“Keep your skanky hands to yourself, you lying, sack of scum!”

_Dean?_

Sam’s on his feet again, back in his own clothes, Jess fades back into the form of Nick … Lucifer takes a step back.

Dean stands between them wielding a monstrous sword and looking like a warrior out of a Cecil B. Demille extravaganza -- only in jeans and a leather jacket.

“What is this?” Lucifer demands.

Dean smirks. “This is me slicing and dicing and throwing in the extra Ginsu knives for free if you act quick. Now. Back. Away.”

Sam moves to stand beside Dean and fights the tremors still racking him from how close he’d come to succumbing to this … _thing_.

Lucifer is furious. “How did you get that sword? You are not Michael.”

“Garage sale,” Dean replies. “Funny what folks find in their attics. Now blink or wiggle your nose or whatever it is you dickwads do, and end this.”

“You cannot hurt me in here.”

Dean shifts the sword a little closer. “Wanna bet?”

Sam can see the mofo expression in Dean’s eyes and thinks, this is no bluff. The sword’s real. And the Devil knows it.

Lucifer doesn’t look that good anymore. He’s not falling apart like Nick but his skin is normal and his eyes are just blue and Sam decides the black suit is cheesy after all. He stands shoulder to shoulder with his brother. All fear is gone. He takes a step closer, knows Dean has his back.

“You come near me again and I’ll tear your face off. For starters. Now let me the fuck out of here. NOW.”

Sam sits up with a start. _He’s in his bed_ , Dean leaning over him.

“Oh, _thank God_. Sam, you okay?”

Disorientation threatens to make him fall back on his pillow. He reaches for his brother. “What? … How did you …?”

“Here. Slow down. Take it easy, I got you.” Dean hands him a glass of water.

Sam swallows and the memories of what he nearly did, who he almost did it with return in a churning fury. He’s up and tears to the bathroom, just makes it over the toilet when the greasy dinner he ate earlier spews out in a violent purge.

Dean’s rubbing his back and handing him a wet wash cloth and while he’s grateful, part of him wishes his brother would leave him alone because Sam can’t look at him, knowing that Dean saw, that Dean knows…

Dean is at his elbow as Sam stumbles back to his bed. Dean stares at him, eyes huge with concern and Sam just wants to crawl up in a corner and die.

“Lucifer?” Dean asks. “One of his dreams?”

Sam looks up at this. “How did you do it?”

“Do what, Sam?”

“You came in like a fucking ninja with that sword…” He looks around, almost expecting to see the magnificent weapon appear in the shabby room. “You saved me from … ”

“Sam. You were shouting. Screaming. Saying no. And I tried to wake you up. Shook you till I was afraid I’d knock your teeth out but you wouldn’t come out of it, man. Scared the shit out of me.”

“But you … You didn’t see …”

“I saw you thrashing. I heard you tell that maggot to take his hands off you. You called him a ‘lying sack of scum’. Couldn’t of put it better myself.”

Sam tries to process best he can. Dean wasn’t there. So that meant it had been …

“I did it,” he says softly.

Dean looks at him. “Well, of course. Only heard your part of the conversation but I’d say you had the cockroach running at the end.” Dean must think Sam is going to be okay because he gives a little smirk as he adds, “You yelled something about Ginsu knives.”

“He … he was Jessica. I …”

Dean interrupts. “Bastard.” 

Sam shudders at how close he’d come … how much he’d wanted to say yes. To be with her forever. But the hallucination -- within a hallucination -- another Sam Winchester first, he wagers, it stopped him. Was it Michael? Was the archangel trying to help him? Clearly that was his sword.

Dean sits restlessly next to him, trying to give him space but not leaving him alone. It’s hard for his brother to be still.

He has to make Dean see. “You were there.”

“What?”

“You were in Lucifer’s dream with me. I think you had Michael’s sword. You told Lucifer to leave me alone. You threatened him. That’s why it ended.”

Dean looks at him like he’s grown an extra head. “Dude, from the moment you woke me up till right now I haven’t left this room. Been awake the whole time.”

Sam shakes his head. Tries again to understand. “I made you up?”

“Looks like,” Dean shrugs casually but his face is hard. “All I know is I wish I could have jumped into your brain and gutted that monster with my bare hands.”

They’re both silent a moment.

“Sam. I know how hard this has been. Or maybe I don’t … This sonuvabitch is older than time and slicker than Brylcreem. But I do know he’s the same evil we’ve been fighting our whole lives. Whatever he says, whatever he does, you remember who you are, Sam.”

“He … tries to make me forget,” Sam admits softly.

“I know it. But you’re stronger.”

“Not as strong as you and Dad.”

“Sam, you just told the Devil to get the fuck out of your head. And he did.”

“I was scared. I’ve never been so scared. The things he …” Sam looks away again, shame heating his face.

Dean’s voice is very quiet. “Uh-uh. There is nothing you can’t tell me. Was my mistake last year. Not making it again.”

Sam continues to stare at the cruddy brown carpet.

“Sam, I’d be worried if you weren’t scared. I’m scared. Scared out of my fucking mind pretty much all the time. And it’s okay. We’ve got each other’s backs. Like we always did.”

The smile Dean gives him is ferociously warm. And for the first time since waking up to this endless nightmare months ago, Sam feels a glimmer of hope.

“I know you think you weren’t there in the room with me and Lucifer, but you saved me.” _The brave part of me looks like you._

“Thought we already worked it out that it was all you, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam smiles.

* * *

Bobby Singer feels pretty good. Sure he has some aches here and there. And his acid reflux is acting up again making his chest ache. But none of this new and like he told old man Dean, it’s just a part of growin’ old. Nothing you can do about it so best not to whine. And even stuck in this damn chair there are still things he can do.

If his arm could reach around himself far enough he’d give himself the biggest pat on the back this side of Mt. Rushmore. The answer didn’t appear in any one book. The Old Ones were clever bastards and didn’t connect any dots. But he’d found the last puzzle piece and snapped it into place like the Lego pieces he bought for when the Winchester boys came around.

So, he is feeling good, because the bitch is toast.

Chapter 17

“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, popping into the Impala’s back seat.

Sam yelps and fishtails the car across the thankfully empty stretch of highway.

 _Hee_. Somehow this is funny when it happens to his brother and not to Dean.

Dean turns to face Cas. He’s missed him. Not that he’s going to say this aloud. Cas nods at him in his ever solemn way and Dean smiles brightly.

“I have good news.”

Now there’s something you didn’t hear every day. Well, not if you’re Dean Winchester at any rate.

“Go on,” Sam says.

Sam doesn’t have the patience for Cas’s intermittent pauses. Come to think of it, at one time neither did Dean. Now, it doesn’t bother him so much.

“Kimaris is gone. Lucifer was displeased at his failure and banished him.”

Dean snorts. “That’s minion number two blowing the job. I’ll bet Lucie is royally pissed. Dude had the fuckin’ Cerberus couldn’t get the job done neither.” He turns to look at Sam a moment. His brother took that beast on single-handed ... man, that took guts.

“Guess we won that battle,” Sam says. But Sam’s voice wavers and Dean hears the rest … _but not the war_.

Wet blanket. Couldn’t they spend five freakin’ minutes enjoying this? Right now. This second. Nobody is tracking him. Hell Hounds aren’t materializing to rip him to shreds. Time and space is staying put. _Dean Winchester, you just survived 10 rounds with Hell’s denizens, whatcha gonna do now?_

“We should head to DisneyWorld.”

Both his travelling companions look at him like Dean just lost his mind.

“Never mind.”

Sam gets it. “Dean, you’re right. It’s good.”

Dean looks at his brother. Waits till Sam looks back, because this is about so much more than Kimaris getting his Fabio ass kicked back to Hell. “Yeah,” Dean says. “It’s good.”

“And your friend Bobby is making good progress on his plan. He is a very smart hunter.”

Dean turns back to Cas. “What plan?”

“To trap Death.”

Dean’s heart suddenly feels like a tight, cold thing. “Cas?”

“I believe Sam saw some of Bobby’s research …”

Sam won’t meet his eyes. “I knew … I mean the texts they talk about Death and how it controls the passage into Hades. Technically, if Death didn’t open the door, you couldn’t go to Hell. Ever. It made Bobby think … but how would one …?”

Sam. Turn the car around. Bobby’s. Now.”

* * *

What used to be easy is now so blasted hard. Bobby spins the chair around again and maneuvers his makeshift paint brush on a stick into a semi circle shape. It has to be precise, can’t be sloppy. This summoning has to go without a hitch. He works his way around the empty garage, swirling, crossing, filling in … it’s as intricate as a piece of lace. Or a web.

The sigil he’s drawing left ancient behind several thousand years ago. Its origins are shrouded. One reference had it coming from God. Others credit Lucifer, before his fall. Bobby likes to think it might have come from a mighty clever hunter of yore. Evil’s always underestimating humanity. And if evil ain’t goin’ anywhere, neither are people.

Suddenly, he misses his friend John. Sure woulda been good to have someone like that have his back on this one. ‘Course if John hadn’ta started down the path of makin’ deals … But he’s let that bitterness go. Mostly.

He wheels himself back to check the image on the floor against the one in the book. A few spots are off. He goes to correct them and has to stop as another pain shoots down his arm from his shoulder. Dammit. Been giving him a hard time. Must be from movin’ himself around in the chair. He needs to take some Advil. Should do the trick. Between this and the heart burn he’s been a rollin’ sack of aches lately. Ah. Growin’ old. Wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Although the alternative is worse so he guesses he would wish it on his friends.

They’d lost some good friends of late. Pamela. Ellen. Her baby, Jo. That one still stung darn hard. What is it with these children of hunters that are so quick to want to give up their lives? Not for the first time he thinks Sam had it right. He at least tried to get away. Go to college. Live like a person. Dang, John had been upset. Took Bobby a month to just find out what happened. Really what kind of crazy person treated a full ride at Stanford like a trip to a concentration camp? John just muttered something about not being able to keep Sammy safe and stalked away. Dean, bless his soft heart, just stood there. Face blank. The boy had a face like an angel and when it went into that lost stare it could just about break your heart in two. He’d tried to get Dean to talk.

“It’s tough when they fight, eh?”

Dean had nodded.

“Hard to be the peacekeeper. They’re peas in a pod, Sam and John. Couple of stubborn mules.”

“Yeah.”

“Miss your brother?”

Dean looked at him. “I called him. We spoke some. He’s settling in. Making friends. School’s always been easy for him. He’ll do well.”

“How ‘bout you?”

The boy looked at him like the question had no meaning.

“Ever think about what you want? Maybe college ain’t for you but …”

“Gonna hunt with Dad,” Dean said, as if no other thought had ever dared enter his head.

And maybe it hadn’t. How could it have, the way John raised him? Boy lost his innocence at four. Bad shit chasin’ that family around. Both boys have separately told him they think their family is cursed. He said curses were bullshit and that their futures are what they make them. Mostly he believes this. But sometimes you have to help that future along. That’s why he is doing what he’s doing. You can’t control the future. But there is one thing he is going to control. Dean Winchester is never going to Hell again.

A last hard look at the symbols he’s drawn satisfies him that this part is as good as it is going to get. He makes his way back to the book. He’s memorized the words he must recite but a last look isn’t going to hurt. They are powerful and old and deadly if misused. Tamara says that when he’s done he has to return the book and she’s locking it up again. He can’t disagree with her. Lots of mischief and worse could be done with spells that touch the power of the Earth herself.

He wonders what he might have done if he’d had access to this text two years ago. If it works now it would have worked then. He could have kept Dean out of Hell. He’d tried everything he could think of that horrible year to save Dean. He remembers Sam going crazy tryin’ to break that blasted deal.

Bobby just wishes Dean hadn’t made it in the first place. It took a piece of Bobby’s heart when he saw Sam dead in his brother’s arms in that godforsake ghost town. But seeing Sam walk through his doorway three days later, he knew instantly that Dean had done something unforgivably foolish and completely irreversible.

Boy never believes in his own worth. Bobby doesn’t know why that is exactly. John wasn’t father of the year, but he loved Dean. Loved both his boys more than anything. It’s like Dean identifies himself only as John’s son, Sam’s brother. Lose them and he vanishes. Makes no sense.

Bobby can still hear Castiel looking at Dean asking, “You don’t believe you deserve to be saved?” Good kid like that, smart as a whip, braver than men twice his age. Shouldn’ta been in Hell in the first place, ya idjit.

So maybe this is too little, too late, but Bobby is finally going to do right by the boy he considers a son. And he isn’t trading his soul to do so either, but a little deal making … well, that’s okay, dealin’ is older than anything outside of the Bible he reckons, heck older even than that. Keep the price manageable and a deal could be just what one needed.

He lines the candles out along the edges of the design. He’s got these long doo-hickeys to help light them. Better than dropping a match on the wick and hopin’ it took.

It’s done.

He wheels back against the wall and takes a deep breath. _This is for you, boy._

“ _Evoco prodigium … Praestigarum murus … Major creoare … “_

The room begins to flicker and the books on his table rustle as if a wind is passing through even though the doors are closed. He ignores this and continues the recitation, voice rising at the end. “… _Circus consisto funestus. Attineo prodigium!”_

His eyes are shut but he feels the snap as the spell finishes and he’s no longer alone.

“ _Oh_. What have we here?”

Her voice is deep, sultry, sexiest thing he’s heard in a long time. He opens his eyes to take her in fully. Long, wavy blonde hair, close to six feet tall, shaped like a starlet, not all skinny like today’s idea of good lookin’ – nope, all curves and long-legged wonder. She smiles pearly white teeth at him and shakes her hair over one shoulder. She’s in the white dress both Sam and Dean described. Silk or satin, clingy, low cut. Parts of him he’d thought long dead are noticing.

“Hello. Aren’t you all cuddly looking?” She gazes at him through lowered lashes. “But shouldn’t a gentleman stand to greet a lady?”

He doesn’t answer, in shock as he feels _his legs_. Holy mother of …

“Well you went through such trouble to see me. Come here, sweetie,” she beckons.

On shaking arms, he pushes himself up. Standing on wobbly legs he looks at her now, eyes wide. He hadn’t counted on this, is scared that there’s a price he didn’t reckon on. She’s right in front of him and she’s so tall he has to look up.

“You have pretty blue eyes,” she murmurs. He stands perfectly still, frankly afraid of trying to take a step on legs that haven’t been used in months. “Brave little man. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing? Summoning me isn’t like calling your pet demon, you know.” The seductive tone in her voice changes to razor wire. “You presume too much, little monkey. You do not play with me.”

Around her the room explodes in flames. Bobby ignores the orange flame-tips reaching for him, the sudden smothering heat, the deafening roar of the fire threatening to consume him. He stands unmoving for a century, at least.

The inferno vanishes.

“You aren’t afraid.” It is not wonder in her voice. And not quite apprehension. Not even a little. “Why is that?”

“You can’t take me.” He pulls a crystal on a cord from around his neck. It’s glowing inside with what looks like trapped sunshine.

“A soul keeper,” she hisses. And Bobby is really glad she can’t reach him. “I haven’t seen one of those in a long time. Didn’t expect to find anyone who could still make one. Nice. Tethering your own soul.” And she’s all peaches and honey again. “I like you. Formal invitation. Smarter than the usual kind who play with fire.” A hint of smoke touches his nostrils. “Very polite.”

Here is his opening.

“Well, then, if’n you like to do things proper, miss, we should introduce ourselves. Mr. Robert Singer. I’d say, ‘at your service,’ but that ain’t exactly where this is headed.”

“Miss … so formal. I am Azreal.”

Bobby takes a breath and holds it a moment. Last word of the incantation. “Azrael.”

The room darkens. Death blinks. “What did you do?” Her fury is back but Bobby can see he’s got her off-balance as she tries to figure out what just happened.

He still has working legs so he takes another step away from the blasted chair and carefully makes a circuit around her. She moves with him to keep her eyes on him.

“You and I are going to have a nice, long chat.”

She reaches out with her arms, feels the invisible force holding her in. Her face goes red. “Let. Me. Out.”

“Not yet sweet pea. First I want to deal.”

Azrael snarls. “Here I thought you were different. But it’s always the same. Predictable. Immortality. Power. Revenge. I pick you as the wanting to get even kind. So you want me to take out one person or wipe out the whole family? If you’re looking for impact, that’s the way to go. And the reputation that’ll give you, well it’s priceless. So what’ll it be?”

Bobby notes her words are agreeable, but he’s seeing the anger she’s trying to conceal.

He smiles. “I’m not dealing for me. I want you to shut a door. Or never open it to be precise. Dean Winchester never enters Hell again.”

She’s surprised a moment but recovers fast.

“This is about Dean Winchester? Oh, I don’t think so. There’s a very special place waiting for him. He’s got a lot of real close friends set to welcome him home.”

The menace of her voice sends chills down Bobby’s spine. If there was any doubt he was doing the right thing, the brutal promise in her words puts it to rest.

“Well, okay then, if you don’t want to deal, then I’ll just be goin’.” He knows she’ll figure it out in a minute.

She laughs. It is not the laugh of someone sharing a good joke. “How long till one of my friends let’s me out of here, do you think? That’s how long you have left, little man, and then you’ll wish you’d settled for playing with vampires and ghosts.”

“Nobody is finding you. See these symbols around you. Their opposites are buried underground, beneath the concrete you’re standing on.” Like a key in a lock. Bitch was stuck. Wasn’t goin’ nowhere unless he opened the door.

_One … Two …_

The scream of Death is not meant for men’s ears. Even with his legs locked to support him, Bobby reels, nearly falls. But Azrael is still held in his _Bobby’s_ trap. He continues to wait.

“That’s all you want? No Hell for Dean Winchester? And you let me go?” She’s throwing the rage and hatred of every soul-sucking piece of supernatural crap he’s ever hunted at him. He stands firm.

“It’s enough.”

Damn heartburn acts up again. No time for nonsense, he has to stay focused. Get her to agree. Save the boy.

“Don’t even think about tricking me, old man.”

“You lock the door to Hell for Dean forever. I will let you go. It’s a good deal. Suggest you take it.”

Azrael watches him with eyes slitted like a cat’s. Staring down Death, if that ain’t the capper of his hunting life. And suddenly she laughs.

“I like you,” she says. “You surprised me. I haven’t been surprised in a long time. And you’re fun. Play a good game. Bet you kick ass at chess.”

He nods at this and eyes her questioningly.

She fulfills her part of the deal speaking an ancient tongue. “إغلاق باب جهنم إلى الأبد الروح الذكور.” Bobby makes out enough to believe.

The door bursts open. Bobby doesn’t even look, just holds his hand up to stop the hollering that is sure to commence. ‘Course the angel ignores the gesture.

“You were successful,” Cas says.

Bobby nods.

Cas turns to Dean with a small yet profound smile. “Dean, you will never enter Hell again.”

“Now, little man. It’s your turn.”

Dean looks wildly at him. “Bobby. What did you, do?!”

“I’m not an idjit like you, Dean. My soul is safe. All I’m doing is letting her go.”

“Bobby. Your legs …”

“Freebie. Before she knew what I was up to. Not sure how long it’ll last…” He shrugs to show it doesn’t matter to him. Flinches at another wash of heartburn. “Now if you clowns’ll stay quiet, I’ve gotta finish this.”

“ _You’re letting her go?_ ” He shoulda figured Sam’d have a problem with this.

“Trust me,” he says. “I said I’d release her. Gotta keep my word.”

Azrael turns to Sam. Licks her lips seductively. “Be seeing you again, soon, Sammy.”

Bobby shudders a moment at this but then quickly utters a foreign litany under his breath, as if praying. It’s over in a flash.

Both boys are staring at where Azrael was standing.

“Bobby?”

Bobby ignores them and addresses the woman now staring at him in bewilderment. “What did you do?” she breathes.

“I let you go, like I said, I just didn’t say _what_ I was letting go. You’re a reaper now, honey. Not The Grim Reaper. Just a reaper. You’ll get to take souls on their natural journey. Death’s back where she … it … belongs.” Bobby looks back toward his friends. “You didn’t really think I was gonna let the Pale Rider just stroll through the door to slaughter more towns, didja?”

Sam is pulling at Bobby’s arm urgently. “Bobby, you see her, the reaper … you’re talking to her?”

Bobby pulls his arm away. She is beautiful. Why didn’t he see that before? He feels an odd tingle, then the most thunderous pain of his memory explodes through him and his legs fold again and he’s on the ground looking up at three blurred faces.

The reaper is between him and them. Breathing is hard, he struggles, feels a weight like a stack of bricks on his chest. He takes a final look at the faces of the boys he loves so much. He wishes he can tell them how special they are. _Be good to each other._ Her hand grazes his forehead and he sees no more.

Chapter 18

How do you fight Death?

You don’t.

You lose.

_Bobby, you see her, the reaper … you’re talking to her?_

Dean’s heart stops that very moment. He sees the older man clutch his chest, fall, moan in pain. Dean drops to his knees at his side, holds Bobby’s head. Bobby looks at him one last time, eyes glazed but peaceful before shutting them.

“He’s gone Dean. The reaper has left,” Cas says softly.

“No,” Dean hisses. She can’t … she didn’t. He knows that Sam is there, on Bobby’s other side. That maybe he wants to hold Bobby, too, but Dean’s holding on and can’t let go … can’t let this happen. He rocks the older man in a grip so hard it would bruise if he’d been alive. His father. Ellen. _Jo_. How can they be dead? When it should be him …

He sinks his head onto Bobby’s still chest and whispers, “No. _” Why did you do it? You can’t make deals with these monsters. I’m not worth it, Bobby -- I’m not -- I’m like them. You don’t know. You can’t know what I did, what I am. For this_ _you sacrificed yourself, to keep me from where I belong. Shoulda stayed dead, then all those good folks would be here, today._

“It was his time, Dean.”

Dean cracks.

“Bring him back! Now. Right now. You bring him back, you hear me … Lay your hands on him and put his soul back!” He screams at the angel, mindlessly throws anything his hands touch, glass is shattering _he is shattering._

Cas steps back as Dean attacks him. “I am sorry, Dean. I cannot. I never had such power. His was a natural death. Try to underst—“

Dean hears one word.

 _Natural_? Nothing in Dean’s entire existence has been natural, his life is made up of nasty, rancid, putrid _things_ that pollute all they touch and destroy everything he’s ever cared about … And it is in him. Something came back with him from Hell and visits him at night reminding him where his soul belongs.

The demon comes up into the light and turns on Cas, razor sharp. The sanctimonious angel that should have left Dean to rot where he belongs.

He shoves Castiel against the wall, ignores the eyes that forgive him even as he imagines himself reaching down and ripping Cas’s heart out … so that it stops fucking caring about him.

“Dean. Cas can’t do anything. Stop, please.” Sam is there, wants to touch him, is afraid ...

Dean’s heart stirs a moment, but his demon is still strangling him and he shakes Sam off.

“You’re wrong!” Dean yells at Sam. “He can. He … brought me—“

Castiel does not try to resist Dean’s murderous fury. “When I pulled you out of hell you were not supposed to be dead. And even so, I wasn’t alone, Dean, all the hosts of Heaven were with me. We fought the Devil’s legions to free you. God has work for you. You don’t belong in Hell.”

How could Cas think this? He was _there_ , he _saw_ … even as Cas struggled to pull him from the pit, Dean had wielded one last slash to the worthless soul in front of him …

_You did belong in Hell. You liked it. Loved it. The angels don’t know who they picked as their so-called savior._

“I hate you! I hate all of you useless dicks! That man … _Bobby_ deserves to live … not me…“

“Dean ...” He cannot take the sorrow in Cas’s eyes.

“Fucking idiot. Don’t you know I _liked_ it there, got off on it? Send me back and save _him_!” Dean’s hands are at the angel’s throat, the world is red rage.

Cas’s eyes are filled with such sadness that Dean thinks he might vomit on the spot. He releases his grip and walks away without another glance at Cas, brushes past Sam and knows he’s supposed to care, Sam loved Bobby, too. But he doesn’t care. His own black eyes are staring at him … taunting him, reminding him of how worthless he is and this time he isn’t fighting because the demon is right, the demon is him.

 _Stupid old man. Thought you could trick Death._ He stands over the body, staring down. He stops seeing it. Stops hearing Sam carefully saying “Dean … “ It’s quiet and dark and nothing exists, nothing hurts, nothing even is. He is _so_ tired. He can stop. Just rest.

It’s soothing and warm and tingly and he thinks for a minute that he’s fallen into a warm bath like when he was little. Lights flicker as if someone is taking flash photos only the flares are coming from inside of him and the warmth is turning hot and it’s starting to burn and _what the fuck …?_

“Cas, what’s happening?!” Sam’s voice is far away, unnaturally high. Scared.

Dean says, _Sam, I’m coming …_ But he’s not moving, not speaking, because _nothing_ works.

Dean.

He looks around for this new voice except that would mean controlling his body and he’s not doing that any longer. Lights shoot out all over the room and he knows he’s about to become a meat puppet and end the freakin’ world and he shouts out the only name that can help him … “Sam, _SAM!”_ But the words are stuck in his head, don’t come out his mouth _._

“No!” Sam screams. “Michael can’t have him. Cas! You said Dean has to agree. Has to say yes!”

_Yeah, that’s right … you heard him … Get out. I didn’t say yes_. He’d remember that part, wouldn’t he?

Dean, you called for me. Said you wanted it all to stop. I’ll make it stop, we will end this. Together.

 _Michael_. No. No. No. This is a mistake. He never intended, never … For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he even be allowed to be tired without the world ending?

_Okay, douchebag, listen up. I did not say, yes. I didn’t sign the permission slip. Now give me back my body._

“Sam. Dean must have said yes.”

_What?! No, Cas … you know better. Sam …_

“Michael can’t have him. Stop this.” Dean hears Sam’s frantic plea to Cas. “Stop this, tell him, talk to Michael, explain. Dean’s upset, shaken. Bobby was like … a father. Please, oh God, please Michael can’t take him from me.”

“It cannot be undone. If Dean said yes then Michael will have his vessel. Armageddon begins.”

_I didn’t say goddamn yes! Sam … don’t listen to him. You have to believe me!_

“But Dean didn’t say anything! He was crazy, hurt, but I don’t believe … this is bullshit … he didn’t say yes. Cas … Tell Michael to let Dean go.” Sam is yelling at the poor angel nearly as hard as Dean had _a minute?_ ago.

_That’s it, Sammy. I knew you’d know. Cas, do something. Angel to angel._

_Dean?_

_Cas! Can you hear me? I didn’t say yes. I’m not saying yes. No permission. This is bodysnatching … against the angel handbook, right? Tell Michael to go home._

_Michael, this isn’t right. This isn’t how Father intended—_

Father isn’t here now, Castiel. You know what’s at stake. We cannot wait much longer.

_This man is a not a puppet. He has free will. We never take a vessel unless we are given permission, invited in … Michael how could you—_

“Sam … something is wro—“

Castiel. My brother. You mean well, but your affection for this human is corrupting your judgment. You are misguided. You must go and seek divine guidance.

Cas vanishes in a heat flicking flash _. No! You bastard. You know he’s right. I did not invite you in. Now get out._

Dean radiates angel light, abruptly he can see out of his eyes again and is nearly blinded by the whiteness radiating off the pale walls in splattered slashes. Sam stands in front of him. Dean tries to meet his brother’s eyes but he can’t control his own. Tears are running down Sam’s cheeks and his arms are out wanting to touch Dean but afraid of the light shining through his skin. Dean struggles to move, to reach Sam, but he has no arms, no legs.

“Dean, can you hear me? It’s Sammy.” His brother’s voice is breaking.

_I’m here, bro, I’m right here. Dick won’t let me out. Sam, I don’t know what to do._

“Fight it. I know it hurts. It’s so wrong and you’ve been through so much. But you can’t quit. Can’t … _leave._ I just got you back. We just became brothers again. Dean, please, tell me you can hear me.”

Dean feels tears burn behind his eyes but knows that they aren’t flowing, aren’t really there. Shaking he pushes and tries to punch himself free but no muscles, no nerves respond to him. The burning increases and he’s certain if he ever gets out of this he’ll have crispy fried organs.

A few more minutes and there will be no more pain, my son. Don’t fight it. The joining will soon be complete. You will experience Heaven’s grace.

_Yeah, well, your grace can go screw itself. I want my meat suit back._

You said yes, my son.

Dean’s veins thrum under his skin. _I did not say, yes! And stop calling me son. I’ve had two fathers – AND YOU AREN’T ONE OF THEM._

There is such regret in your soul. You seek peace. Wish to rest. And … find redemption. I see. Yes, so much pain. Suffering. By your hands. Accept me and you will be at peace. You will be forgiven. You can rest and let me carry your burdens.

Dean falters. Is Michael is right? The demon is quick to rise and accuse. _It’s more mercy than you showed those souls under your lash, remember their eyes, how they screamed, how you shivered in ecstasy with each drop of blood? You should be punished. You don’t deserve this life. Don’t deserve to be saved._

This, what Michael offers, would it make him free of his sins? He’s fought his darkness since before Hell. Has always been afraid of what he was capable of, the things he’d do, for his family, for Sam. Been fighting it always.

“Dean … if this is about Hell. What you did there … The angels, God, everyone, Dean … everyone has forgiven you. You don’t owe any more. I know you’re still in there. Forgive yourself. Fight this.”

Sam’s voice touches him. It’s almost as if his brother knows what Michael has offered. Accept Michael. Gain peace. Redemption. But lose his brother _._

_Michael, I made mistakes. I know what I did. But … I didn’t deserve Hell._

My brother said the same thing.

 _I’m nothing like Lucifer! You’re twisting everything. You know this isn’t right. I was tired is all. Maybe I did quit, for just for a moment, but I never said …_ Dean senses a flash of – satisfaction.

_You knew his heart was going, that he would die. Instead of warning him you let this happen. You sonuvabitch wanted to break me!_

Your friend was a good man. But it was his time. We only helped him find the tools he’d need to achieve his greatest success. What he did, for you, it gave him more than you can ever imagine.

 _Bobby,_ _thank you_. Dean is not going to let Bobby’s gift be wasted. Because this time he understands what he’d be sacrificing.

_I don’t know how many more ways there are of saying this. NO! You don’t have permission to use my body. Find another tailor. Isn’t there a fuckin’ harp lesson you’re late for?_

Dean you need me. Together we can defeat Lucifer. Get to him before he gets to Sam. Don’t you want this?

_Lucifer isn’t getting Sam._

You don’t really still believe you can defeat Lucifer on you own?

_No, I don’t think I can defeat Lucifer on my own._

Then you see why you need to agree and let us—

_I think Sam and I can defeat him._

Michael is curious suddenly, perhaps wondering what Dean sees in Sam. Dean feels his head tilt. Knows he’s studying Sam the way Cas, Zach, Lucifer, all the angels do.

At this, Sam’s eyes narrow in a burst of desperation.

“Do you want me to say, yes? Is that what this is about? Let’s just fucking kill each other right here, right now?! Like in Rivergrove? You know that wasn’t the right plan. You said it. We can’t win this Dean. There is no winning. Winning is not to play.”

_No. God no. Sam, don’t say, yes. Never say yes. I didn’t … Michael, you’re worse than Lucifer, you know that, you sonovabitch. At least the Devil didn’t just jump in and turn Sam into a pod person. My brother sent the fuckin’ Cerberus back to Hell … On. His. Own. You flyboys catch that one? That’s my Sam and if you understand anything, then understand this … I’M NOT LEAVING HIM!_

Tears stream down Sam’s face, his anger exhausted. “I can’t do this alone … I don’t want to … Dean, we’re all we’ve got, remember. You’re all I’ve got ...”

His brother falls to his knees, crying, hurting. _Sammy no, I’m not quitting. I swear it. We’re in this together. Let me go, dammit, can’t you see what this is doing to him. Please. Michael, I’m begging you._

Dean sees his brother sway back and forth on his knees and it’s an odd sight, he’s never seen Sam do this before and then he understands that his brother is praying.

_Michael. You’re an angel. He’s fucking praying to you. Don’t you hear it?!_

No Dean. It’s not me he’s speaking to.

Suddenly, in his head, his heart, riding the waves of his blood, he hears it softly. _Dean_. Repeated like a soft litany. And it fills him, squeezes him, starts oozing out everything else until a stream of heat rises off him like fog off a sea.

The veil lifts, his eyes see on their own again, his arms vibrate, his leg _hurts_ and he reaches down to touch the shoulder of the brother he swore he’d never let go.

* * *

Sam feels a hand touch him and if he sees Michael in his brother’s eyes he’s afraid he’s going to say yes … but they’re not the cold unfathomable eyes of an archangel, they’re Dean’s green eyes and they’re looking into him and they’re wet.

“Dean?!” He falls forward onto his hands, too staggered to think.

His brother kneels down quickly and steadies him.

“It’s you?”

“I think so, Sammy. I … Holy fuck that was weird.”

Sam feels the world shift and Dean steadies him again. He takes a deep breath, tries to stop his aching heart, tries to believe his eyes. He holds Dean’s arms for dear life. Needs to ask, but he can’t even form the words. “Are … are you staying?”

“Yeah. I’m stayin’. I told him, no. Kept telling him no.”

“But … how … ?”

“Not sure … one minute I was looking at Bobby and I just wanted out. Couldn’t take another second … Michael was waiting. Saw a loophole. Figured ‘wanting out’ was as good as a yes.” Dean stops a moment. “I’m sorry, Sam. I couldn’t take seeing Bobby … Was weak. I’m sorry.”

“Dean. No. You’re not weak. You’re … God, if you only knew what you are.”

Neither one of them releases their grip on the other. Sam thinks about what Dean has said. “So I was right, you never said yes. I told Cas that.”

“Shouted no. Top of my freakin’ lungs. Bastard was pretending to be hard of hearing.”

“That’s cheating.”

“That’s what I said. Cas got to Michael for a minute, said that, too. Got him kicked out of the room.”

“Yeah, he vanished. He okay?”

Dean looks worried. “I hope so.” He looks down. “I owe him an apology.”

“Cas understood.” Sam hesitates, but he needs to know. “How’d you get Michael to back off?”

“I didn’t,“ Dean says. “ _We_ did it. Together. We both prayed for the same thing.”

“You could hear me?”

Dean’s eyes are doing that naked thing that Sam cherishes like a gift. “I can’t do this alone, either.”

Epilogue

The road is straight and black and open. Sky is blue-bell clear as a warm breeze whips through the open window. Sam turns Dean’s music up a little louder and anticipates his brother’s disbelieving glare.

“Hey, I can appreciate more then Coldplay. Unlike you, I have a wide taste in music.”

Dean sneers. “Right, like the crap on that abomination you grafted into baby. Freakin’ Dr. Frankenstein.”

Sam sighs. “It was just an iPod.” But Dean’s intractable on this and Sam surrenders with an inner grin.

“Turn off’s up ahead,” Dean says.

They are meeting Castiel. The angel has been missing for two weeks. Dean went from worried to anxious to impossible to be with … until last night when he told Sam that Cas was alright.

“How do you know?”

“I do,” Dean’d answered without any further explanation.

Then Cas calls them this morning and sends meeting coordinates to Dean’s cell phone. As they approach Dean gets paler. Not that anybody other than Sam would notice, but Dean’s nervous.

“Cas understood. You were out of your mind that night, Dean. We all were.”

Dean nods and stays silent.

They park and exit the car. Another gorgeous vista. White tipped mountains look painted into the horizon. Side by side, they lean on the hood to wait.

The air shimmies and the angel appears. Sam greets him and then walks away a short distance. This isn’t about him.

“Dean.”

“Cas. You … okay?”

“I am fine. My brothers wanted to speak with me.”

Dean’s face goes suspicious. “You mean chew you out?”

Cas almost smiles. “I have been instructed in the proper ways of angel-human interaction.”

Dean is stiff, reserved. “I see.”

Cas reaches out and holds Dean’s arm. “I don’t think you do.”

“Cas … what I said. I shouldn’t have … I’m sorry—“

“I told them to go screw themselves.”

Sam blinks, unsure he heard right. Dean is staring open-mouthed.

“What?” his brother asks.

“I think we interact just fine,” Cas says by way of explanation.

Dean breaks out in a grin. But then his face goes serious again. “I am sorry, Cas. Was way out of line—“

“Dean. I forgive you.”

Dean squeezes the other man’s shoulder a second and Sam knows it’s behind them.

“So, it’s fair to say your superpowers are still on Kryptonite?”

The angel smiles and Sam is amazed at how far Cas has come in understanding Dean-speak. “As long as other angels are around I’ll have some abilities.”

Sam starts at this reminder of the future Dean described. Won’t happen. He … _they_ won’t let it happen.

“But for all purposes, my brothers and sisters have cast me out. I am no longer welcome,” Cas continues. “I am on my own.”

“No. You’re not,” Dean says.

Sam understands he was wrong, Cas hasn’t replaced him, just expanded their circle. And it’s good. He walks over and stands on Cas’s other side. “You’ve got us,” he says.

Dean meets his eyes above the angel and Sam sees gratitude. It’s so Dean to want his family together.

“Thank you,” Cas says looking from Sam to Dean.

The angel’s eyes stay locked on Dean’s a few seconds longer than is comfortable and Sam thinks he should move away again when Cas says, “I have been trying to figure out what Lucifer has planned for us in Detroit.”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes again with a mixture of weariness and resignation. If it’s Thursday, then the Apocalypse is looming.

“Yeah?” Dean questions.

“I will have more information for you shortly. I have more reconnaissance to conduct.”

“You be careful.”

“Of course, Dean. You, too. Both of you.”

And with that, Cas disappears.

Sam hands Dean a cold bottle of beer and they lean back against the Impala and take in the mountains. Up here it’s hard to believe what’s out there … waiting.

Sam looks at his brother. Who he’d do anything for. Who’d fought an archangel to come back to him. It’s enough to start restoring his faith. But he still worries. Lucifer will be waiting for him in Detroit. Soon. He’ll face Lucifer. But he won’t be alone.

“Dean, do you think we’re gonna survive this thing?”

“Not asking about winning any more Sammy?”

“No. Just wanna not lose.”

“You know, I used to think you never listened to me.”

“I listened. Just didn’t always agree.”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“Yeah what?”

“I think we’re gonna survive this thing.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: borgmama1of5


End file.
